


The Secret Ingredient

by fleurdeliser, ohnoktcsk, tuesdaysgone



Category: Comics Industry RPF, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Bakery, First Impressions, Gerard Way/Brian Schechter (secondary pairing), Gerard Way/Lindsey Ballato (secondary pairing), Grudgy!Frank, M/M, New Jersey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 05:41:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurdeliser/pseuds/fleurdeliser, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohnoktcsk/pseuds/ohnoktcsk, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesdaysgone/pseuds/tuesdaysgone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank, Brian, and James own a bakery/chocolatier/patisserie together. Grant Morrison, who has a television program devoted to food and travel, decides to profile the up-and-coming New Jersey food scene and chooses their shop to visit. It's sure to be a disaster if Frank can't get over his grudge about the jokes Grant made about Jersey in his latest review.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Secret Ingredient

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of Bandom Big Bang and there is a mix to go with it. Please see the end notes for the link. 
> 
> A big thank you to anoneknewmoose for betaing this for us.

"Frank, is the caramel done?" Brian asks. 

"Five minutes, dickbag," Frank replies. 

"Fuck you," Brian says in a cheery tone. Frank flips him off and keeps stirring the caramel until it's perfect. 

"I wonder if I could bake caramel _into_ a pretzel," Dewees muses from the counter, where he's rolling out dough for today's batch of scones. It's ass o'clock in the morning, and the shop doesn't open for another hour, but Frank's been here for two. Brian's grumpy, and James may or may not still be stoned. 

In other words, it’s a normal day at Reggie's.

"Probably," Frank hazards. Dewees means well, and Brian's just a dick. Like Frank. Dewees is the best one of any of them. He finishes up the caramel, takes the portion he needs for the chocolates he's working on, and hands the rest off to Brian. 

"Did you hear the review for Shaun's diner came out?" Dewees asks, as he sets the scones on the rack next to the oven. He grabs a towel and dusts himself off. "It's pretty good. For the most part." 

"Read it to us, since your hands are momentarily clean," Brian says. 

Dewees waves the rolling pin at Brian and says, "It's okay, man, you don't have to lie about your illiteracy any more." Brian throws a towel at him. 

"Read," Frank suggests. Mostly because it's too fucking early in the day for Brian to be throwing things.

Dewees starts reading. It's actually a good review. Until he gets to a part that's a dig on Jersey and their food scene and that fucking pisses Frank off. All of them have worked hard, and Jersey deserves better. 

"Maybe he's just being British. Takin' the piss," James suggests. 

"Well he shouldn't have done it here and he shouldn't have fucking done it in an article about Shaun," Frank says.

Brian snorts. "Grant Morrison can write whatever he fucking wants. And it's a pretty good review, actually." 

Frank scowls. He doesn't give a shit about bigshot critics from the city. 

"Frankie's mad," Dewees comments. "Does that mean we're getting almond brittle?"

"Fuck you," Frank says and makes coconut caramel chews because James hates them. 

Once the shop is open, and Frank is selling his chocolates to people and watching them ooh and aah over Brian's pastries and James's cakes, he settles a little. Because fuck what anybody says: the New York scene can suck Jersey's dick. Except when they call and order their desserts in massive quantities, which is what happens when Frank manages to get back into the office and check the email. 

When he gets back into the kitchen, he breaks the news. "We're gonna be working a few evenings. Kowalski's says The Spaghetti House recommended us and they want to do a trial run. All the standards."

"Fuck," says Brian, grinning. "That'll be great for business."

"You know it," Frank says, and actually starts smiling again as he keeps working.

\---

Frank is concentrating on dipping truffles when he hears another customer come in. James jumps in and starts talking, so Frank doesn't really pay much attention beyond noting the person has an accent. When he does look up, the first thing he notices are the white jeans.

White jeans and designer shoes. Frank rolls his eyes a little and tunes it out. This order is due for pickup at noon. Wedding shower. Brides wait for no man, especially not ones with a - what is that? Irish accent? Frank realizes then that this customer has been in the shop for a while. Which isn't unusual, but he doesn't seem intent on ordering anything. 

It isn't until Frank's moving a new tray of white caramels into the case at the register that he actually gets a look at their customer. And then he turns on his heel and slams into the back room.

Brian looks up from the industrial mixer. "What the fuck, Frank?"

"We have a guest," Frank says shortly. 

Brian goes to peer out the kitchen window. "Holy shit," he breathes.

Grant Morrison, food critic and darling of New York's _avant garde_ restaurant scene, is standing at the counter of Reggie's and chatting with James, looking cool as a fucking cucumber. 

"Why is he here?" Frank growls.

"I don't know, but you're not allowed to go out there until you can ask that question politely," Brian tells him.

"Fuck polite. You're never fucking polite," Frank shoots back. 

"I am polite when the well-being of our business is on the line," Brian says calmly. 

"We don't need _his_ business," Frank snaps. "He doesn't give a shit about Jersey anyway, it's not like it'll matter what we do. Posh...tosser," Frank mumbles. 

"I am telling Gerard not to watch any more BBC America around you," Brian says. "It's warped your mind."

"I read," Frank says indignantly. "And whatever, it's not like you don't love _Doctor Who_ just as much as the rest of us."

At that moment, Dewees says something excitedly and hands Morrison one of Frank's caramel skulls. "Those aren't for him, asshole," Frank growls, but Brian grabs him before he can march back out and snatch it out of Morrison's hand.

"You're grounded," Brian tells him. 

"I'm not Gerard, and you're not in charge of me," Frank snaps back.

"I am your fucking business partner," Brian says, "and you are going to listen to me when I tell you that acting like a punk isn't going to do anybody any good. For fuck's sake, you don't have to make out with him."

"Maybe that would be better," Frank says after counting to six. "He wouldn't be able to open his fucking mouth and talk."

"Well, there's a game plan." Brian points at the office. "Go."

Frank glowers, but does as he's told. Mostly because at the end of the day, he knows Brian is right and working when he's like this is always a bad idea anyway. It ends in burned sugar smoking up the entire building and Frank only barely avoiding serious injury. So he'll go review their building insurance. That'll give him an excuse for the bad mood.

He does some paperwork that he's been putting off and calls to confirm a pickup from a buyer in Newark. Then it's nearly time for the wedding job pickup, so Frank heads back out to the kitchen to make sure everything is ready.

Their shop is blessedly free of asshole food critics and Frank takes a deep breath and feels better about life, until Brian looks almost apologetic and drops a bomb on him. 

"You're joking," Frank says, flatly. "Why would Grant fucking Morrison want to profile _us_?"

"Because everyone in Jersey and a good percentage of the city can't stop talking about us." Brian sounds smug. Frank will allow it. Fucker.

"This could be _huge_ for us, Frankie," Brian says. "And he wouldn't be here if he didn't already like us."

"He loved your caramel skulls," Dewees tells him. "Said they were punk."

"What does he know about punk rock, anyway," Frank says with an eyeroll.

"Plenty," Brian says, rolling his eyes right back at Frank. "He had a punk band in the eighties." 

"How do you even know that?" Frank asks incredulously. 

"I read," Brian mimics. 

Dewees chuckles. "I know why you're upset, Frankie, but he's pretty rad."

Frank scowls. "Traitors. I suppose you want me to make nice with this guy. When is he coming?"

"Next week," says Dewees. "He asked to spend some time in the kitchen, get a feel for how we do things."

"Great," Frank grouses. "If he gets in my way, he'll feel more than that."

"Simmer down, Frank," Brian says. 

Frank takes a breath and lets it out. "Fine. _Fine_. But if he talks shit about Jersey, I'm done."

"Look at this as your chance to fight for Jersey's honor," Brian suggests. "Now let's finish that fucking wedding order."

Gerard comes in later and proves that Brian's not actually a total hardass, because Brian lights up when he sees Gerard and drops what he's doing to go give him a kiss. And listen for the eighteenth time to Gerard's latest idea for a mural in their shop, even though they still haven't decided whether or not they want to add an eat-in area.

"Lindsey totally wants to help too," Gerard says enthusiastically. "You know you want to." 

"Gotta have the money to set up a dining room, Gee," Brian reminds him with a smile. 

"Whatever. You guys will get there in no time," Gerard says. 

"Yeah, especially if Grant fucking Morrison profiles us," James says. Frank huffs.

Gerard looks at him with wide eyes. "Grant Morrison? Shit, he's awesome! He wants to profile you?"

"Traitor," Frank says. Gerard rolls his eyes.

"Frankie, I swear to god, you hold a mean grudge. Even Shaun isn't pissed. And Linds and I watch his show all the time at home, he's totally brilliant."

"Whatever," Frank says. "I'm just tired of people shitting on Jersey for a cheap laugh." 

Gerard squeezes his shoulder. It actually feels nice, which makes Frank feel stupid. He knows his shitty mood is just magnifying his reaction to this. "So, I'm actually here to invite you all over to dinner. Lindsey wants to try out some new recipes on you guys," Gerard says. 

"You're not here to see me? I'm hurt," Brian says. 

"Babe, I'm _always_ here to see you," Gerard replies.

"Awwww," says James, and draws a heart in the air around them.

Gerard and Brian are only equalled in sheer diabetic sweetness by Gerard and Lindsey. Frank definitely misses her cooking, too — she's been out on tour with her band — but he can't miss the opportunity to tease Gerard. "I'm always here to see _you_ , James Dewees," he says, fluttering his eyelashes.

James drapes himself around Frank's neck. "Aww, baby, you're so sweet." Gerard just laughs his stupid laugh and Brian looks smug as shit. As usual.

James starts telling them about a lead he got on an old-school pinball machine that would be great for the foyer. He keeps hanging on Frank's neck, but Frank doesn't try to escape. It feels good. James, he's sure, knows Frank just wanted a fucking hug and was too stubborn to ask for one. That's why James is his best friend.

By the time they close the shop for the evening, Frank is feeling a little more centered. At least he has that to look forward to because the Grant Morrison thing is putting his stomach in knots. He hates reviewers. Even though they have yet to get a bad review, it's still hell on his nerves.

He heads home to an empty apartment and wishes for the umpteenth time that he were around enough for a dog. James has three. Of course, James is married. Lindsey, and thus Gerard, has the world's sweetest and also ugliest kitten. Brian has - well, Gerard. 

It was easier to forget about being lonely when the shop had just started up, when they were working late every night and had no free time. Now he has just enough free time to desperately _want_ a dog, but not enough to actually be able to _keep_ one. It sucks. 

But fuck, it's not like he can really complain. He loves the shop. He's so fucking proud of what they've built over the past four years. It's like nothing he could have dreamed of when he was a punk in culinary school.

He's not going to put up with anyone who wants to put them down.

*

Frank ends up being the first person in the shop the morning of the first day of Grant Morrison's visit. He sets the coffee maker brewing an extra big pot of coffee and starts on a batch of caramel. James rolls in a few minutes later and starts the ovens going. He grins when he hears what Frank has going on the shop stereo.

"The Misfits, Frankie? Isn't it a little early?" 

"I made an all-Jersey playlist," Frank smirks.

James laughs and grabs onto Frank and gives him a noogie. "You're such a little asshole."

"You love me," Frank says with a grin, squirming away.

"Yep." Dewees just smiles and goes over to the sink to wash his hands. 

Brian shows up five minutes later. "Gerard stayed over again, didn't he?" Frank asks when Brian goes straight to the coffee maker and downs a cup before refilling.

"Fuck you very much," says Brian.

"I think coffee is more effective if you back it up with at least some sleep, dude," Frank says. 

"Linds gets home in two days," Brian replies, as if it explains everything. Actually, it pretty much does.

Frank takes a sip of his coffee and a deep breath. "When is Morrison supposed to get here?"

"Any time now," James says cheerfully.

Frank groans. "You're killing me. There's not enough fucking coffee in the _world_."

"Better make another pot then," Brian says and dumps a bunch of stale ginger snaps in their industrial food processor.

"Sic him on James first," Frank say after the new pot of coffee is brewing. "I have shit to do for that hotel tasting."

Brian nods. "That was the plan, Frankie. Never let it be said that I don't know how to take care of you."

"You're the best, baby," Frank tells him, darting over to plant a wet smacking kiss on his cheek. 

James cackles. "Frankie, you should have seen his face." 

"Not all of us can be Gerard," Frank sighs.

Brian rolls his eyes. "And thank fuck for that. I can only handle the one. More would be exhausting…more exhausting."

"Would that we all had your problems, man," Frank tells him.

"Do I have to remind you how many times I asked you out?" Brian teases. 

"I'm not a narcissist," Frank retorts. People do joke about them sometimes. Lindsey's friend Jimmy calls them the Tattoo Twins. But they'd have killed each other and Frank likes being Brian's friend and business partner more than he sometimes fleetingly regrets turning him down. Besides, Jimmy _really_ would have given them shit _then_.

Anyway, Brian had been gone for Gerard from the first time he'd met him. It's a fucking miracle that things worked out the way they did when Gerard met Lindsey. If Frank has half that much luck in his relationships in his lifetime, he'll consider himself a lucky dude.

When Morrison rings the bell out front, Frank is the only one who doesn't have gooey hands and can go let him in. He takes a deep breath and attempts to not scowl.

Morrison doesn't look as put-together as he had when he'd last been to the shop. But then, it _is_ five in the morning. Frank notes with satisfaction the travel mug that Morrison is clutching like a lifeline. "Welcome," he says cheerfully. And loudly. 

"You must be Frank. The partner I haven't met yet," Morrison replies, voice softer than it is on TV.

"That's me!" Frank says. "Come on in." He's glad that the music is already loud. He leads Morrison in through the still-dark shop and back into the kitchen, where Brian and James greet him with more genuine enthusiasm.

"You're with James today," Brian tells him, taking charge as expected.

Morrison grins at James. "Sounds good. It will be just me for the first few days, then I'll bring in the camera crew at the end of the week."

James smiles. "My momma's gonna be proud. Her boy, on television."

"That's what she said to me last night," Frank mutters under his breath. It's no fun having to fucking censor himself. Apparently Morrison is like a fucking bat because he bursts out laughing. Okay, so the guy doesn't have quite as much of a stick up his ass as suspected. Whatever.

James is making a birthday cake, so he walks Morrison through that process. They talk a lot, but Frank can't hear them. He starts on more skulls because they always sell out.

He has to admit, grudgingly, that Morrison doesn't seem to be as in the way as Frank had been dreading.

Frank swears when the ganache he's making doesn't set up right. He may not be in the way, but he's distracting. He tries a few things to rescue it, but it's no use. He swears, dumps the batch, and starts over.

As soon as he can, he escapes out front. They don't bring in as much money in sales here as they do with their orders, but he still loves talking to the people who come in.

It's bright and colorful out here now that the sun is coming up. He repainted their door bright green not too long ago. A mural would be sweet, too, Gerard's not wrong.

He spends a couple of hours getting people pastries and bagels and coffee. By the time James comes out with Morrison to relieve him, Frank's feeling more in the mood to make some chocolates again. He's been thinking about doing something new - something with matcha, maybe. He works on more of the regular stuff as he chews the idea over.

Maybe there could be matcha zombie heads. With red filling of some sort, if the flavors work together. If he gets a bunch of stuff done now, he can experiment later.

Brian has left him a tray of sugar cookies, so he whips up some royal icing and decorates those first, then moves on to today's batch of chocolates and truffles. Once those are on the floor, the hotel tasting order is next. The stuff they send out to hotels and restaurants is more restrained than the stuff they sell in the shop, but still a lot weirder than average.

He really fucking loves this shop and he fucking believes in what they're doing and if Grant fucking Morrison doesn't, well. He can go fuck himself.

Grant fucking Morrison doesn't sound like he's having a bad time, though. Every once in a while something James says sends him into gales of laughter. Frank jumps every time at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, but he manages to lose himself in the intricacies of the sugar skulls he's decorating, so he doesn't notice that he's got company until Morrison says, "Your detail work is incredible. _Dia de los muertos_?"

"Yeah," Frank replies. "It's a big deal around here." 

"Also, Frankie likes anything even remotely related to Halloween, since that's his birthday," James says.

"Fantastic," Morrison murmurs. "Is it you who's responsible for the decor as well?"

"Oh, we all help out with that," says James. "The customers do, too."

"Really? That's excellent," Morrison says.

"The customer graffiti is my favorite. Though, we have potential mural artists and that might win over everything." Frank only just manages to keep himself from just blurting out that it's Brian's boyfriend and his wife. That's not his to tell. Or use as asshole bait.

"And James and Frank are addicted to flea markets," Brian comments. "Hence the weird old photos and ads. We're about to start breaking for lunches, Grant, can we have something ordered in for you?"

Morrison claps his hands together. "What's good around here?"

"Everything we have menus for," Frank quips. It's true.

"I do prefer vegetarian," Morrison adds, "if that changes your answer."

Frank puts the final swirls of color on the sugar skull and sets it aside. "There's a great diner down the block," he says finally, not mentioning that the owners are good friends. "They do awesome veggie burgers. Change your life."

"A veggie burger would certainly hit the spot," Morrison says. "Can I get any of you anything?"

"I'm delivering this hotel sampler," Frank says. Behind Morrison, Brian is rolling his eyes; Frank guesses that this means he's being kind of a dick.

"Why don't you take him with you, Frankie?" James suggests. "You can get food on the way back."

Frank is going to murder James and make it look like a tragic kitchen accident. "Sure!" Frank replies in a chipper tone. 

Morrison smiles at him. "Can I help with anything?"

Frank looks him up and down. "Borrow James' chef's coat, you're too tall for Brian's or mine. You can be my assistant."

"Gladly," Morrison says with a grin and James gets his spare coat for him. He seems eager to dive in and help carry things and do whatever Frank asks of him, which is surprising. TV chefs are TV chefs because they don't like getting in and doing the tough, dirty everyday work.

When they start ferrying things out to the van, Morrison whistles. "That's fucking incredible," he says, peering at the details of the mural on the back doors.

"Brian's boyfriend did that for us," Frank tells him.

"I feel like I'm familiar with his work elsewhere?" Morrison says. 

"Gerard Way," Frank says. 

"Oh! Yes. The one in comics, yes?" Frank nods. 

"I thought he was married," Morrison says. 

Shit. Frank hadn't meant to get into this at _all_. How was he supposed to know Morrison reads comics? "He is. Um. Gerard is married to Lindsey and boyfriends with Brian and they're all pretty happy with the arrangement. So if you…" he takes a deep breath. "That's not something you get to use in your fucking show."

Morrison gives him a level look. "I fail to see why Brian's personal life would be at all relevant to my profile of your shop, Mr. Iero. Though I can certainly see that he's a very lucky man."

"I'm just a cook, Mr. Morrison," Frank replies exceedingly politely. "I wouldn't know what you think is relevant."

"I imagine there have been bad experiences with regard to people finding out, too," Morrison says kindly. 

Frank twitches. "Yes."

"The world is full of narrow-minded idiots," Morrison says, after a moment's pause. "Brian is an immensely talented _pâtissier_. Mr. Way is an incredible artist. Those are the things that matter."

"And the fact that we all grew up in Jersey?" Frank challenges. "Does that matter?"

For a moment, Morrison looks utterly bewildered. And then his expression clears. "I made a crack about Jersey, didn't I? If I tell you it happened because I feel so at home here, I forgot I'm still an outsider and that it isn't allowed, would you believe me?"

No. "Sure thing," Frank says. "Hand me that tray of éclairs."

Morrison knows a brush-off when he sees it, apparently, or else doesn't care, because he listens without comment. 

They get loaded up and Frank drives them to the hotel. He does his pitch and Morrison serves. Morrison gets a double-take or two, but these people are clearly not all that familiar with his work. It goes well enough that Frank feels pretty confident that they're going to be getting business from this place, which is nice. Maybe they _will_ have the money for an expansion someday soon.

Morrison waits until they're back in the van to start talking again. "You don't like me very much, do you?"

Frank looks over at him. He doesn't seem angry or even particularly offended. Just curious. God, he's such an asshole. "Shaun is one of my best friends, and we all grew up here and we've worked really fucking hard to make the Jersey food scene what it is."

"Shaun Simon," says Morrison, obviously connecting the dots. "The owner of The Good Stuff? I was incredibly impressed with that place, and with Mr. Simon himself. You don't have to convince me that Jersey's food scene is something special, Mr. Iero."

"Special, or worth a bunch of cheap shots?" Fuck it all, Brian is going to kill him.

Morrison tilts his head to the side. "This is why I feel so at home here," he says. "I'm from Glasgow and it has a very similar… vibe, if you will. And everyone is fiercely protective of it." 

Frank takes a deep breath and drums his hands against the steering wheel. Fuck, why did he open his fucking mouth.

"Frank," Morrison says. "Suppose you give me another chance? Any more cheap shots, it's a free shot for you." He juts out his chin comically. 

Frank snorts. "I go for the balls, Morrison."

Morrison laughs, but his face gets serious. "That would be fair, as I appear to have misstepped over your heart."

Frank concentrates on the road and doesn't respond right away. This isn't how he'd pictured this conversation going, and he's not quite sure what to do with Morrison's words. "Another chance," he says finally, and Morrison nods. 

"And call me Grant?"

"Sure," Frank says and pulls into the parking lot of the diner he recommended. 

"Life changing veggie burgers?" Grant asks.

"The milkshakes are pretty good too," Frank replies. He hops out and leads the way inside. "Hey, Hambone," he calls. "I need the usual, plus whatever the big shot here wants."

Hambone's eyes widen when he sees Grant. "Make that two of everything he gets," Grant says.

"Brian and James?" Hambone asks. 

"Them too," Frank says.

Hambone nods and goes to start on their order. Grant is peering around the inside of the restaurant, taking in the fifties diner meets eighties hardcore decor.

"They have shows here on Friday nights," Frank explains. "They turn the room into a dance floor. It's fucking great."

"Lovely. Spent a good bit of time round the clubs myself," Grant replies. "Once upon a time." 

"When you're not riding donkeys through the jungle to eat weird berry cakes?" Frank asks. 

"Ah," Grant replies, looking pleased. "You do watch the show."

"I've seen it once or twice. You know, when there's nothing better on." He smiles a little to show he's joking.

Grant smiles. "I'll take that." 

"It's alright," Frank allows.

Grant has a beautiful smile when he really turns it on. Frank catches himself staring a little and gives himself a mental shake. Thankfully, Hambone emerges quickly with their food—four house specials, veggie burgers piled with toppings, sweet potato fries, and a mess of Hambone's grandmother's coleslaw. And four chocolate milkshakes. One vegan, because his stomach would pitch a fit if he had a milkshake right now. They take it all back to Reggie's and eat and shoot the shit. Brian keeps giving Frank these _looks_ , meaning he's going to get cornered later.

Later turns out to be sooner when Grant gets a call and ducks into the office to take it.

"What did you do?" Brian demands, as soon as the office door closes.

"We're getting along, what more do you want?" Frank asks petulantly. 

"Frank…" 

"I'm not exactly subtle when I don't like something or someone," Frank replies. "He asked me about it. We buried the hatchet."

"I give you a lot of rope," Brian says, "because I know you. But sometimes -" 

"You're not my dad, Bri. Maybe sometimes I'm gonna hang myself up. This time it's fine. I can behave." Then he remembers one of the other conversations between him and Grant. "I, uh. I may have accidentally told him about you and Gerard. And Lindsey." Brian gets a panicky look on his face. "It's fine, Bri. He's cool. Super understanding. Not gonna say a word about it," Frank reassures him. "He just… knows of Gerard, I guess? Is a fan? So he knew Gerard was married and recognized his art."

Brian nods after a moment. "It's fine, Frank. And I'm glad you've buried the hatchet. I know your fucking smart mouth is a lost cause."

"Hey, fuck you," Frank says, without heat. He crosses his arms and says, "I guess he's okay."

Brian rolls his eyes. "You sound like a five year old. And yes. He is." 

"This is just because he likes Gerard, isn't it?" Frank grumps. 

"And because he's a smart dude who's trying to give us lots of fucking free publicity," Brian reminds him.

"Not to interrupt this love-fest," James says, "but I think the pastry case just got wiped out by a horde of stoners with mid-afternoon munchies." 

"Fuck," Brian says and shoves one last bite of coleslaw into his mouth and gets up to replenish. 

"Unless either of you need anything from me, I'm gonna spend the rest of the afternoon experimenting," Frank says just as Grant comes out of the office. 

"Take the Scot," Brian tells him, and there's no way that isn't revenge for his earlier attitude. "Otherwise he's going to have to watch me fill cream puffs for an hour."

"As fascinating as that sounds, I'm afraid I have to decline," Grant says, and he actually does sound apologetic. "That phone call was from my publisher; there's some crisis that they apparently need me on hand to fix. But I will certainly be back tomorrow." 

James grins at him and says, "We'll see you then." Brian shakes his hand and Frank does too. 

"I'd like to see some of your experimentation at some point," Grant tells Frank. 

"Come back tomorrow," Frank replies. 

Grant favors him with a bright grin. "I'll be here."

Later, as Frank is fucking around with possible raspberry and cherry fillings for his zombie head idea, he realizes he's saving all the most fun bits for Grant the next day. And that he's actually _looking forward_ to it. Maybe it's just that James and Brian don't tend to be overly impressed by him anymore, due to prolonged exposure.

He loses the next couple of hours like that, mixing up different batches of chocolate and seeing what sticks. This is his favorite part of being a chocolatier. 

Gerard comes in about twenty minutes before they're set to close. "Sometimes I forget you're kinda famous. Because you're so… Gerard. And then Grant fucking Morrison is a fan," Frank says. 

"Really?" He's beaming. 

"You went a little squeaky there," Frank tells him. 

"He's so awesome!" Gerard enthuses, "and smart, and funny, and I can't forget, so fucking hot. So, so hot." 

"Slow down, sparky," Frank says. Hot, huh. Frank wouldn't have gone there.

"Who's hot?" asks Brian, coming up behind them and wrapping his arms around Gerard's waist. Gerard squirms around to give him a kiss.

"Grant Morrison," Gerard replies. 

"He is," Brian agrees and kisses Gerard again. Huh. Okay. 

Frank thinks about Grant, remembers how much he likes Grant's smile, his accent, the whole package. Yeah, okay. Hot covers it. "He totally recognized your style from the mural, too," Frank says when they pull apart. "Like, I didn't tell him it was you until he said it looked familiar."

"The van?" Gerard smiles, looking simply pleased. "I'd love to meet him. Bri, do you -"

Brian rolls his eyes. "He'll be here all week, Gee."

Gerard grins. "Cool. Maybe I'll come in tomorrow. I have a meeting anyway. I can get breakfast here and head in." 

"He's pretty cool," Brian says. "Even Frankie managed to warm up to him a little."

"Amazing," Gerard says, smirking at Frank.

"Fuck you," Frank scowls. All his friends are assholes. Gerard just grins at him. "I'm jetting," Frank says. "Go home to… the couch that loves me."

"Your couch loves me," James pipes up. "It tried to keep me last time I stayed over." 

"And you made breakfast the next morning, I almost kept you too." Frank laughs and goes to grab his bag. "Later." He heads home and makes dinner, carries it over to his very comfortable couch, and turns on the tv. He eats watching a B-grade horror movie with horrible special effects. 

He falls asleep on his couch because it really does love him, and wakes up around midnight. He stumbles back to his bed for a few more hours of sleep and then it's up again before dawn. 

Frank's first in the shop again this morning so he starts coffee and waits for it to brew, bouncing a bit on his toes. Today will be a bit more relaxed than yesterday, since there's no tastings; they have a few orders to go out, but nothing crazy.

Grant is actually the one to show up next. He looks sleepy and a little rumpled and nothing like how polished he usually looks. Frank wishes Gerard and Brian hadn't gone on about how hot he is, because now that Grant's here, he can't stop thinking about it. And today being slower.... 

"Did you get that crisis resolved?" Frank asks. He gestures in Grant's direction with the coffee pot, and Grant holds out his mug gratefully.

"I did," he replies after he gulps down some coffee. "It was mostly ridiculous, but with the book being sent to the printers soon, everything is an emergency."

"Book, of course," Frank says. He can't help it.

Grant grins ruefully. "My second, in fact."

"What's it about?" Frank asks as he starts arranging the front cabinet display trays. 

"Fiction, this time. My last was… well, my show, but more expanded and in print." 

Frank owns it, actually, but he refrains from mentioning that. "I like to read," he offers.

"So do I," Grant agrees. "When I was a lad, reading was my best escape."

Frank nods. "I was sick a lot as a kid. Well. I still get sick a lot. Which meant I was reading a lot and watching a lot of movies."

"That does show," Grant says with a smile.

"I'm not very subtle," Frank shrugs. "You might have noticed that."

Grant chuckles. "Subtlety is overrated. I much prefer directness and honesty."

"We're all good at that," Frank says. "It's why this shop works. You can quote me."

"I'll write that down," Grant smiles.

James and Brian come in at the same time, James yawning big and Brian making a beeline directly to the coffee. Frank laughs. "Lindsey needs to come home like, yesterday." 

Brian flips him off, face buried in a mug of black coffee. "Jealous much, Frank?" 

"Of you? No. Of the fact that you've gotten laid this year? ...Not talking about it," he says belatedly, remembering they have a guest. Luckily, Grant is over at the ovens with James. 

Brian gives him one of those looks that Frank hates because he knows Brian's going to be _nice_ and when Brian is nice, Frank gets stupidly fucking emotional. "You know we'd take you out with us, right? Introduce you to people," Brian says. "You don't have to…" He reaches out and squeezes Frank's shoulder. Sometimes Frank hates that his friends knows him so well. 

"I'm not dating. Dating sucks. Plus I get up way too early in the morning for a normal relationship." Frank sighs. "Go bake something." He turns to his own workstation.

He starts prepping the basics: regular chocolate, white chocolate, vegan chocolate, caramel, and the inclusions for the shop's standard assortment. After a few moments, Grant comes back to him. "So, standards for now?" he asks. 

"Yup," Frank replies. "Fun stuff after the breakfast rush is over."

This is the time of day they all pitch in to fill the cases and prep the standards. It can't be that fun to watch, but Grant is quietly attentive. Frank wonders what he's thinking. "Hand me that bowl of almonds?" Frank asks him. Grant lifts the bowl and hands it to Frank. "Thanks."

"If you'd like additional help, I am reasonably competent at most of the basics," Grant offers. 

Frank points to the sink. "Scrub up, I like free labor."

He sets Grant to making salted caramels, and ignores the looks that James and Brian are throwing in their direction. 

They end up chatting about their favorite books the entire time. They talk about the books that changed their lives, about books they wanted to like but hated. Grant has interesting taste and by the end, Frank has a list of stuff to download onto his Kindle. 

Also, he realizes James and Brian let him stay back here during the breakfast rush. Which is...not normal. In fact, the only reason they're interrupted at all is when Gerard arrives.

"What are you making me today, Frankie?" Gerard asks when he walks into the kitchen. 

"Grant was making salted caramels for me and we're making salted caramel shortbread with the leftovers," Frank replies. "And damn, you are here way earlier than I expected. Your definition of breakfast is… fuzzy. And Brian is exhausted." 

"Can't sleep, too excited," Gerard replies. He looks utterly unconcerned with the insinuation about his sex life. Frank can see the faintest hint of rope marks on his wrists when he steals a caramel. 

"Well then," Frank grins. "Can I introduce you to Grant Morrison? He's a fan, you know."

Grant grins at him and holds out his hand to shake. "I am indeed a fan. I have loved all your work greatly."

"It's mutual. Lindsey and I have about three seasons of your show on the DVR. I maybe talked Brian's ear off when he called and told me about the profile."

"Your Brian is a very talented chef," Grant tells Gerard, who grins and blushes. 

"He is. Between him and my wife, I eat entirely too fucking well for a guy who can only make one thing," Gerard says. 

"Chefs love a mouth to feed. It's a service." Grant grins. "Tell me what you're working on. I'm dying for some insider info."

Gerard is looking a little pink at the praise, but he's nothing if not a dude who is happy to talk about comics. "Right now, I'm working on more Umbrella Academy. I got distracted by another thing that's going to be published soon, but now it's back to the Hargreeves," Gerard says. 

"Good news on both fronts," Grant says. "How did you meet this unique group of chefs, Gerard?"

"Jersey," says Gerard, grinning, and Frank high-fives him. 

"Everyone knows everyone or someone who knows someone," Frank says. 

"So I've discovered," Grant replies.

"I met Frank back when I was at SVA. He made the mistake of feeding me once, and he hasn't been able to get rid of me since."

"And I met James at culinary school and Brian was a friend of a friend and… it all just came together really well," Frank says. 

"Especially after Brian," he adds. "I can handle running a business fairly well - I grew up hanging around my grandfather's refrigeration business - but Brian is a genius."

Gerard beams. He's so fucking in love, it's gotta be visible from space. When you get him and Brian _and_ Lindsey in a room together, Gerard's expressions could power a city. Frank would be jealous if he wasn't so fucking happy for all of them. 

He wants someone to light up like that for him, though. "Too bad you have a meeting, Gee. We're making zombie heads today."

Gerard's face falls. "Oh man! Something new? Wait, does this mean I get to design you a new display?”

"Duh," Frank says. "And we'll probably need boxes and shit for them too." 

"Then you need Lindsey. Two more days!" He smiles and kisses Frank's cheek.

Frank can't help the big grin that spreads over his face. He likes Lindsey a lot, and he hasn't seen her since they all went out to her band's first show on this tour. The next day had been fucking murder at work, but none of them had cared. 

Frank finishes off the shortbread as Grant and Gerard keep talking. They're fucking _fun_ to listen to. They're still talking when Brian comes into the back room with a to-go cup and a paper bag. "Breakfast, Gee," he says. "You're going to be late." 

"Not that late," Gerard says, leaning in and kissing him thoroughly. Frank doesn't quite avert his eyes. 

"Good luck, man," says Frank, once Gerard and Brian have let each other go. 

"It was wonderful to meet you," adds Grant.

"You too! You should come over for dinner when Lindsey gets home," Gerard says and shakes his hand again. 

"I will! I'm nearby. Call me anytime." Grant hands Gerard one of his cards. 

"You don't have to go back to Scotland quite yet?" Frank asks as Gerard and Brian head out the door. Curiosity, et cetera.

"I'll not be heading back to Scotland for some months yet," Grant says. "I tend to spend this part of the year at my home here in New Jersey." 

"Your what?" Frank asks stupidly. 

Grant smiles. "My home. It was here or LA. I decided on here." 

"You live here." 

"In a big rambling mad old house in the country, yes. I rather love it."

Frank feels like somebody's swept his feet out from under him. He has to ask, "In Jersey?"

"In Jersey," Grant confirms. 

"Where?" 

"Twenty or so miles away, up the mountain," Grant replies. He hands Frank the tray of caramels he's just finished, smiling a little. "I did tell you I felt at home here."

"I'm getting really good at apologizing to you," Frank grumbles.

Grant chuckles. "There's no need, Frank. I understand." 

"No, I was an asshole and I'm sorry," Frank says.

"You're lovely," Grant tells him and touches his shoulder for a moment before wandering over to the door to the shop. Frank feels a shiver run through him at the words, never mind the touch. He needs more coffee, he decides. And also maybe some humble pie.

James comes in with a fresh cup of coffee for him and starts rummaging through the pantry shelves. "You good?" he asks, taking down a tray of Danishes to bring up to the front.

Frank nods. "Fine. Good. Better. Anything you need me to do?" 

"Candied nuts for the pies?" James asks.

"Easy," Frank says, and does them while James hums and rolls dough and Brian does whatever Brian's doing in the front with Grant. Eventually, they order lunch from the Thai place a few blocks down, and eat it while Grant asks them more questions about the shop.

After lunch they scrub up, and Frank goes back to his workstation and starts assembling the ingredients for his zombie heads.

Grant comes and peers over his shoulder. "What kind of filling did you decide on?"

"Raspberry," Frank replies. "The cherry was too… something. It overpowered the matcha in ways that weren't quite complementary."

Grant steals a spoon and takes a taste of the raspberry jam. "Mm, yes. It's a bit tart. Yes, I think you're right." 

"How dare you call my baby a tart?" Frank shoots back, smacking the back of his hand and stealing the spoon back. 

Grant looks appropriately chastened. Which is to say, not at all. "Don't worry, I still think she's sweet," Grant murmurs in his ear.

Frank holds in a shiver. "Good," he says. This is a bad time and a worse person for those particular senses to be kicking in.

Frank sets to work on the zombie head mold, and he sets Grant to decorating. They make a good team. Grant has a good eye and does a great job of decorating, so Frank doesn't worry too much about that portion and keeps the heads coming. "Now what?" Grant asks when they have a dozen or so. 

"We call the others in," Frank says. "Democracy, dude."

"The American Way," Grant agrees, solemnly.

Frank laughs. "Is that what we're calling it? James, get in here," he calls. "Testing time."

James comes in and compliments the zombie heads, then they each pick one up. "On three?" Grant asks.

"Three, two, one," Frank counts down and all three of them take bites. It's good. Unexpected, but Frank likes unexpected. He is pretty sure he knows what James will say. It won't be quite sweet enough for him. But he'll be honest about whether it will sell, because he pays attention. And what, he wonders with a twisted grin, will the big shot TV chef say?

Frank peeks. Grant's eyes are closed, and the expression on his face... He's savoring. Like he's seen some people savor good wine. Like he's tasting something extraordinary, When he opens his eyes, he looks at Frank and grins. "That's a keeper," he says.

Oh. Oh, this... this is really fucking inconvenient.

He didn't even _like_ Grant a day ago and now he has a stupid crush. It's fucking stupid. So what if he was wrong about Grant? It doesn't actually change anything. He very sternly tells himself to get a fucking grip. It's been a strange, stressful couple of days and he needs to chill. "It's good?" Frank asks. 

"It's good!" James confirms. "You know I like actually chocolate best, but it's tasty and the whole zombie thing will make it sell like hot cakes. Hell, we could put it on sale the day The Walking Dead airs or something."

"Gross," Frank says approvingly. 

"I'll make some sheriff star cookies too," James adds. "It will be great."

Grant laughs. "Your audience will love it." He looks at Frank. "The flavors are wonderful and the execution fits perfectly with the brand you've established." Frank feels his cheeks get warm.

"You did a good job decorating them," Frank tells him. "I like how you mimicked the sugar skull design a little."

"I was inspired," Grant says, smiling. Frank grins back. He's reasonably confident they're a go, but he should probably run it by Brian first. "May I do a segment on them for the show?" Grant asks.

"Fuck yeah!" says James. "We'll get Gerard to do a sweet promo for it." Grant lifts an eyebrow at Frank. 

"Yeah, sure. That could be fun." He'd forgotten about the camera crew. They'll be here tomorrow and…fuck, now he's nervous.

Brian picks that moment to bang in and says, "I need more of the espresso chocolates, Frank."

Frank shoves a zombie head into his mouth and takes the tray from his hands and fills it with chocolates. Then, of course, he has to wait for Brian to stop chewing.

"Shit," says Brian, "that's good. Weird, but good."

Frank grins. "It's unanimous, then." 

"Grant's going to do a segment on them," James says. "Let Frankie shine."

"Innovation is one of the things that sets you apart from your competitors," Grant says smoothly.

"Also our good looks," says James, mugging for an invisible camera.

"Obviously," Grant replies with a big grin. Frank is _sure_ he imagines Grant's eyes flicking to him.

"I did want to discuss the filming," Brian says. "Frank, can you watch the floor?"

"Sure," says Frank, and he heads over to wash the worst of the raspberry off his hands. He goes out front and sells people boxes of pastries and chocolates. He kind of wonders what Brian is talking to Grant about. He supposes he'll probably find out.

They're in the office for a while before Grant reappears. "I've got to go," he says. "Sell me some pastries first?"

"Absolutely," Frank says, ignoring the part of himself that's a little disappointed. He turns towards the case and gestures with a flourish. "Anything in particular? The cream-filled cock and balls are not to be missed."

Grant laughs merrily. "That sounds like exactly what I need."

"James takes a little too much joy in making them, but I don't judge," Frank says, popping open a box and putting one inside. "What else?"

Grant taps a finger to his lips. "Some danishes, I think. Oh, and a chocolate curry cupcake. Actually, speaking of chocolates, I'll take an assortment of those, as well. Your choice."

"Dangerous," Frank says. He puts two of all his favorites into one of their nice chocolate boxes and throws in a few of their classics. "You are coming back, right?" Frank teases.

"Of course," says Grant. "The world needs to know about Reggie's, and if the task falls to me to tell them, then so be it."

Frank beams. "See you when I see you," he says. 

Grant gives a little wave and heads toward the door. "And Frank? There's no need to be nervous about the cameras. You're lovely. They'll pick that up just fine."

Frank smiles and waves back. "See you tomorrow." 

That's the second time today Grant has called him lovely. Frank swears under his breath and grabs a rag from the bucket under the counter. Maybe he can work out some of this weirdness if he scrubs the place down.

He cleans for a while and then gets back to making chocolates. He makes a couple of big batches of things they're running low on and ends up staying an hour after close finishing them. Frank likes being in the shop alone every once in a while. It feels comfortable, like an extension of his apartment.

In a lot of ways, he's made the shop his second home. Which works for him, though he knows his mom does a lot of refraining from nagging him about how he's allowed to have a life and meet people. He's fine with his life, with the friends he has. Frank's just. He doesn't know what to do with himself when he's not working, not making things. This is his life, and he loves it.

*

When Frank gets to the shop the next morning, Grant and the camera crew are already there. The art director is a soft-spoken man named Vince. He and his crew give them a rundown of their equipment and a list of the kinds of B-roll shots they like to take to add into the segments.

James gives the whole crew fresh-baked croissants, the first thing to come out of the oven. Grant laughs. "You don't actually need to bribe us to give you a good review, James."

James shrugs and smiles. "I like feeding people. 'S why I do what I do."

"I'm Italian," Frank adds. "Food is love." 

It's weird to know that they're being filmed, but with Grant there to guide the interview segments, it feels a little bit more like just talking to him. Frank's also impressed by how well the camera crew stays out of the way while they're doing the day's prep work.

All of them ask questions about what they're doing or what they're making and all of them are nice. The producer, Janelle, sort of reminds Frank of Lauren, Gerard's agent. Frank's conditioned to be fond of no-nonsense brunettes. Grant himself is everywhere, talking to Janelle and Vince, explaining segment ideas to the three of them with expansive hand gestures. 

It's no wonder this is scheduled for two days.

When the shop opens, Brian heads out front with Grant and the cameras. Frank and James hang back. James throws Frank a grin. "This is fucking wild, huh?"

Frank shakes his head. "I sort of figured it'd be one guy with a camera. Not a whole big _crew_ of people. It's crazy. They're all really fucking nice, though."

"The one camera dude is like, in love with the decor. He kept asking me where we found stuff and doing closeups of the pinball machine and stuff," James tells him.

"Good taste," Frank grins.

James grins back. "This is totally going better than you thought it would, huh?"

"Fuck, Dewees, how many times do I have to admit I'm a cynical asshole?" Frank laughs.

"Oh, you know, a lot. Since you frequently don't let _us_ forget anything," James replies. He hands Frank a brownie. "Mocha chip." It smells amazing. 

Frank is inhaling a brownie like an idiot when Grant walks in. Grant just smiles. "Whatever that is, I can see that I want to try it." Frank plucks one off James' tray and holds it out to Grant. Grant leans in and takes a bite from it. "Mm, perfection," Grant says once he chews and swallows. 

Frank realizes after the fact that he's staring raptly at Grant's mouth. Thankfully, Grant is looking at James, complimenting him on the brownie. Frank swallows and sets the remainder of the brownie on the counter next to Grant's hand. He's not fast enough and Grant taps the back of Frank's hand with his fingers.

"You ready to let my cameras love you, Frank?" Grant asks.

"Let's do it," Frank says, summoning a cocky grin from somewhere. Grant beams at him and disappears out front again. Frank glances at James; his eyebrows are up near his hair. "What?" Frank asks.

"How much do you want to _do_ the nice TV host, Frankie?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," says Frank, firmly.

"Uh huh," James says; the door opens and Grant and the others troop inside.

Grant's producer lets Frank have time to set up his ingredients for the zombie chocolates; he'd already been prepared with some in-process and finished ones so he can do a demonstration. The cameras start rolling as Grant starts his interview. Frank goes into performance mode and it's a blur after that. By the time they wrap the segment there's a tray full of finished zombie heads on the counter, decorated by Frank and Grant. "Dig in," Frank says to the crew.

Everyone grabs one and exclaims over them and Frank beams. They're fucking _zombie heads_. He feels pretty great about them.

Grant moves on to film something with James, and Janelle pulls Frank aside to get some additional footage of him answering questions. Then Frank needs to make a batch of caramels for the front, so Janelle gets some shots of that.

It's actually all pretty fun. The crew are all great and Frank doesn't feel overwhelmed or like he's getting behind. He has an unscheduled tasting later and Grant grabs one of the camera dudes and they hop into the van. Grant asks him about Jersey as they drive, about food and family and friends. He's not really paying attention to what he says, since he's concentrating on the road, so he's sure it turns out sappy. Not that anyone who knows Frank would actually be surprised by that.

"So yeah, it's basically a family business," Frank concludes. Frank shoots a grin at Grant. "We definitely _fight_ like family sometimes. Wait, are you still filming? I don't want this to be like a Behind the Music thing." 

Grant laughs. "You sure?"

"Yes," says Frank, emphatically.

"Perhaps it will be _my_ Behind the Music," Grant says. "My love letter to my adopted home."

Frank bites his lip. "No really, are you still filming?" 

"Just you, me, and Patrick back there," Grant replies. In the rear-view mirror, Frank sees Patrick give a little wave, and he snorts. "You can keep some things to yourself," Grant assures him. "Just give the word."

Frank takes a deep breath and starts talking. He talks about dropping out of college, his long series of failed bands. He touches a little his depression and all the things that brought them to the point of starting a business together. "That's not really for the show, but that's why I feel so lucky," he says. "I wanted you to know."

"I see," Grant murmurs. Frank glances over at him, and sees that he's looking at Frank with a warm smile.  
It feels good to have told Grant all that and Frank smiles back, He pulls up to the restaurant and talks to the valet and they're able to unload and go in easily enough. It's mid-afternoon, and the place is still closed for pre-dinner prep. Brian already got the restaurant owners to sign the filming waiver, and several employees agree to speak on camera, so Frank is pretty sure this is a done deal. He does his demonstration and sits down with the manager while Grant and Patrick film some interview footage.

"So who'd you have to blow to get profiled by Grant Morrison?" asks the manager. Frank knows Gabe from way back, which is the only reason he doesn't punch him in the face; he settles for the shoulder. "Fuck!" Gabe says, holding up his hands in mock-surrender. "I'm kidding, I'm sorry! Come on, Frankie, I know you guys are hot shit."

"Nobody," Frank says. "He walked in a few weeks ago and asked. Apparently he liked our stuff when he was at Shaun's."

"Well, now he can like it here too," Gabe says. "We definitely need in on that action."

"I know you want in on my action," says Frank, waggling his eyebrows.

"Who could resist your action, Frankie?" Gabe asks with a smirk.

"Almost everyone," Frank sighs dramatically.

"Almost everyone what?" asks Grant, coming up beside them.

Frank feels his face go red. "Apparently, there are people who can resist his action. I'm not sure I believe him. Either that or he just doesn't notice," Gabe replies.

Glowing red. 

Grant smiles a little. "I'm not sure I believe it either," he says. "Gabe, isn't it?" Gabe offers his hand and Grant shakes it.

"Frankie and I go way back," Gabe explains. "I like to give him shit."

"I imagine he gives as good as he gets," Grant comments.

"He's a Jersey boy," Gabe grins. "I guarantee it."

"You done talking about me like I'm not right here?" Frank asks, arms crossed over his chest. Grant actually looks contrite. Gabe, not so much. But that's Gabe. Frank's learned not to let it phase him. Frank smiles and rolls his eyes; Grant looks relieved. "Alright, so we're good? We can start regular deliveries next week."

"I'll make sure Brian gets the paperwork," Gabe nods. He gives Frank a one-armed hug. "Good to see you, bro."

They stop to pick up lunch at Hambone's on the way back to the shop; Grant insists on buying. Frank makes a face at him, but doesn't argue. "None of that," Grant says and wiggles his credit card around. "What use is a network expense account if I can't use it?"

"Dunno, never had one," Frank says.

"I support the network buying us lunch," Patrick adds. "If only so I don't eat all the baked goods in the back of this van."

"A fate to be avoided," Grant agrees, "though I'm certain that James and Brian would be flattered."

Frank laughs. "Well, most of those aren't going to be sold, so have at it."

"Save some for the boss," Grant says.

"Sure," says Patrick, and hands him a cream horn. Grant laughs and takes a bite. 

Frank pulls into the shop. He realizes as he's parking that he's really going to _miss_ having Grant around everyday. That's just weird. Why is he such a weird dude?

James, Brian, and the rest of the film crew are loudly enthusiastic about the food, and they break for lunch and sit around the shop and talk. Frank finds himself listening to a scandalous story about Grant and Warren Ellis, famously foul-tempered British chef-recluse, with whom Grant is apparently great friends. "He likes to complain, but really, he's a big softie. And he has nothing to _actually_ complain about, especially not with Kieron and Jamie," Grant says.

"I'm still stuck on the nakedness," Frank says.

"He was wearing a top hat," Grant insists.

"Top hats count as clothes these days? Maybe I'll wear one tomorrow," Frank jokes. 

Brian laughs. "Says the man who won't take off his long-sleeves even in direct sunlight at the height of summer." Frank shrugs. 

"Who are Kieron and Jamie?" James asks.

"Members of the London contingent," Grant replies. "And they are Warren's… well, his everything, really." It sounds like he means more than just assistants. The expression on Brian's face says so too.

Janelle asks James a question that gets him started on a tangent about his dogs. The stories James tells about his dogs are always hilarious, and often involve poop, which is maybe an odd topic for lunch, but everyone laughs. They're throwing away their trash and getting up to work again when Brian says to Grant, "So Lindsey was thinking dinner party next Wednesday night. You should come. You too, Frankie."

"I thought I was already invited," Frank says.

"Well, now it's _official_ ," Brian says, rolling his eyes.

"Sure, whatever," Frank replies with a smile and looks at Grant. 

"I wouldn't miss it," he says.

The crew focuses on James for most of the afternoon, so Frank has a quiet few hours to go over paperwork in the office. Well, in theory. What he actually accomplishes is a lot of staring at the wall and kicking himself for being a moron. He doesn't fucking have _time_ for a crush. Never mind anything else. He's being stupid to put himself in a position where it can continue. "Stupid," he murmurs.

It's almost closing time when Grant pokes his head in. "We're done for the day, Frank."

"Oh!" Frank says and pushes his paperwork away. "Just tomorrow left, then." 

Grant nods. "And unfortunately, it won't be the full day. Just a few wrap-up interviews."

"Well - have a good night," Frank offers. "Today was fun."

"This segment is going to be a good one," Grant says, smiling at him.

Frank smiles back. "Thanks for… everything. I'm sorry. Again. About being a shithead."

"Let's admit we were both partially at fault and just enjoy the fact that we've met, shall we?" Grant suggests.

"I- okay," says Frank. "Yeah. I'm glad about that."

Grant beams at him. "I'm glad to hear it. And glad I'll see you next week."

Frank smiles again and does not say, "shit."

That night, when he eats dinner on his dangerously comfortable couch, he's flipping channels and happens across an episode of Grant's show. He stops and watches. Grant is funny and charming and he says fucking _beautiful_ things about the places and people he visits. Maybe he can be snarky sometimes. Maybe he's different in his print reviews. But maybe Frank just took it all wrong. Maybe he's a really great guy, who seems to _get_ Jersey's scene and love it for the same reasons Frank does.

"Shit, shit, shit," he says to the ceiling. Grant keeps talking onscreen. Frank really fucking likes his voice. "Stop it," he says. He isn't sure if he's talking to himself or to Grant on TV. He watches the whole episode, though.

That night, when he takes a shower, he jerks off trying very hard not to think about anything in particular. He's not successful. It's Grant's voice, at first, the way he says Frank's name. Then his big capable hands. His smile— his _mouth_ , shit. 

He comes hard and leans his forehead against the wall of the shower for a few moments. Fuck. He finishes washing and collapses into bed. He'll be lucky if he manages not to dream about that, too.

The next morning comes far, far too early. He drags himself to the shop still mostly asleep, and he's not surprised to find that he's the first one there. He's also not surprised when Grant appears next. Frank just hands him a cup of coffee fixed how he likes it.

"That's impressive," Grant murmurs. 

"I remember things," Frank says.

"You're a wonder," Grant tells him, knocking their elbows together companionably.

Frank smiles and knocks back. "Nah. Just have really specific abilities."

"Being lovely," Grant replies. Frank buries a grin in his coffee. "You realize I'm going to show up for breakfast whenever I possibly can, don't you?" Grant asks.

"Guess we'd better get to work on that dining room," Frank says. 

"Unless you just let me follow you around," Grant grins. Frank bites his lip against his first response. Grant doesn't need Frank getting all moon-eyed at him.

They get started on setting everything up for opening and gradually the rest trickle in, including Patrick and Janelle. Vince describes the footage they need and Janelle lays out the schedule. James gives everyone apple fritters. They're shaped like hearts.

Frank snorts and takes a big bite. Damn, that's good.

"Cinnamon?" Grant asks, curiously, and James nods. 

"Like one of those motherfucking candy hearts! I thought we could frost them, only they'd say stuff like 'kill'."

"Genius," Grant says with a big smile. "Bet they'd be fucking huge around Valentine's Day."

"I'm definitely doing more zombies for Valentine's Day," Frank muses.

"Romantic," Grant says, grinning. 

Rather than filming the day-to-day workings of the shop, like they had yesterday, Janelle has them do longer, one-on-one interviews. They trade off so that the prep all gets done. Frank ends up being last, and when he goes into the office where they're set up, there's lighting and a tripod and it feels a lot weirder. But Grant is there with his easy smile and that makes Frank feel a little better. He forgets there's a camera there at all, this time, because Grant is so easy to talk to, and if he delves a little further into the things he'd said in the van, about his parent's divorce and more about his personal demons and shit. It's okay, he trusts the crew.

When it's over, and the crew is packing up, Grant offers Frank his hand. "A pleasure, Mr. Iero."

"Absolutely," Frank replies. "See you at dinner next week?"

"I cannot wait," Grant says with a smile. Frank kind of can't wait, either. It's probably good that he has to. It'll give him time to cool off, get his head in order.

They all say their goodbyes. "When will the episode air?" Brian asks. 

"A few months. I'll make sure to inform you of the exact date," Grant says.

"We'll have a watching party," James smiles.

"I look forward to it," Grant smiles.

Grant shuts the door of the van and they drive off. Frank takes a deep breath. "Okay, back to work you fuckers," Brian says.

"Always working, asshole," Frank replies and swats his ass on the way back inside.

The next few days are a welcome return to the normal order of things. It's just Frank and Brian and James in the shop—even Gerard doesn't poke his head in more than once or twice. "Lindsey's home," says Brian, grinning. "She gets to deal with his energy for a couple of days, to make up for leaving me with him while she was on tour."

Frank laughs. "Enjoy your very brief reprieve." 

Brian grins and then rolls his eyes. "It's nice having my own space back, but I get used to him by the end every time." 

"And then you miss him?" Frank asks. 

Brian nods ruefully. "I don't miss the sleep loss, though."

"I wouldn't mind," Frank confesses. "If I had someone worth staying up for."

Brian snorts. "Someone? Someone Scottish, maybe? Likes food, Jersey?"

"Brian," Frank sighs. "It's not…" 

"Frank, I have known you a long fucking time. You think I don't know when you're attracted to someone?" Brian asks.

"Being attracted to someone and having intentions to do something about it are two different things," Frank finally admits, a bit lamely.

"Frankie," Brian sighs.

"Brian, I don't even have time for a fucking dog. Do you know how much I want a dog? It's a lot. Maybe in a few months we can hire a few more people and take days off every once in a while and work normal hours. For now, everything is on hold for me," Frank tries to explain. 

"You're making me feel guilty I already had something going with Gerard when we started out," Brian finally says.

"That's dumb, Bri. It's not like it was a rule." Brian grabs him and hauls him into a hug. "Ugh, fuck you, I'm going to be covered in flour," Frank grumbles. He hugs back, though. Hugs from Brian are sort of rare and always awesome. "It's fine. I'm fine," Frank murmurs. "This is important and I fucking love it."

Frank hopes his friends don't get it in their heads to set him up.

Thankfully, they get a huge order for the day before the dinner party, which means that they're scrambling to get everything prepped _and_ keep the shop running normally. They're all distracted, and James and Brian don't say another word about Grant.

James and Frank ride over to Gerard and Lindsey's together, and Lindsey gives them both huge hugs as soon as they walk in. Frank hugs back just as hard. "Missed you, punk," he tells her.

"I missed you too, Frank. Nobody in the whole world makes chocolate like you do." Frank laughs and pulls the little box he'd brought with him out of his bag, and Lindsey claps her hands in glee. "Oh god. Tell me you brought me a zombie. It's all Gerard has been talking about."

"They _are_ rather spectacular," Grant says from behind him. Frank nearly jumps.

"Ah," Lindsey grins, "the _other_ thing Gerard can't stop talking about. You're Grant Morrison."

"For my sins," Grant replies. He shakes Lindsey's hand, then squeezes Frank's shoulder.

Frank's heart is racing and his stomach is fluttering and he smiles up at Grant. He can't _help_ himself. "Hi," he says with a big grin.

"Hello, Frank," Grant replies, with an answering smile. "Good to see you."

"Got another project yet?" Frank asks.

"There's always something," Grant says, ruefully.

"It could never be as awesome as us, though," Frank jokes. 

"Very true," Grant replies. He sounds serious.

"You've got to take him to the studio, Lyn," Frank says.

"After dinner, if you'd like?" Lindsey offers. 

"I'd be honored," Grant says.

Frank grins. "Seriously, so much cool shit in a small space. Dunno how they do it."

"Is Brian here yet? And Gee?" James asks.

"They're here somewhere," Lindsey says. "Gee was kind of being a nuisance in the kitchen, so Brian offered to distract him."

Frank laughs. Of course. "How was tour?" he asks her.

"Great. Except for the whole away from home thing. I wish I could bring all the kids to us, you know?"

"Frank tells me your band puts on an amazing show," Grant says.

Lindsey grins at Frank. "We try. It helps that we have a good time when we're up there. And the kids love it. We're kind of the band for the oddball kids that don't really fit with the rest of the oddball kids."

"I'll try to make it out next time," Grant says. 

Lindsey laughs. "You might be waiting a little while. But Gerard tells me you live nearby?"

"For the better part of the year, these days. Scotland is my first home, of course, but New Jersey has become very close to my heart." Every time Grant talks about Jersey, Frank's crush increases. And makes him feel awkward and guilty again.

"Mine too," Lindsey says. "Well, we're glad to have you around. Although I'm nervous about my cooking." She laughs. "Can I get you drinks?" 

"I can do that, Lyn," Frank offers.

She kisses him on the cheek. "You're a star, Frankie."

He knows everyone but Grant's drink. "What can I get you?" 

"A screwdriver?" Grant asks.

Frank nods. "You got it."

When he presses the glass into Grant's hand, Grant's murmured, "thank you," sends a shiver up Frank's spine. He concentrates on making Shirley Temples for Gerard and Brian. Grant doesn't go far, though.  
"Janelle and Vince and I have been watching the raw footage this week," he says. "It's such a pleasure to watch you work."

Another shiver. Frank is fucking hopeless. "It was fun," he finally says. Just then Gerard and Brian come into the room, both looking smug. Grant doesn't say anything, of course, but Frank catches him watching as Gerard goes over to lean on the kitchen door jamb, and as Brian comes and collects all three extra drinks, handing one to Lindsey and then giving Gerard his. "They're really happy," Frank says quietly.. He's not sure why he says it now. Grant doesn't reply, but Frank doesn't think he imagines the way Grant presses closer.

"Okay, dinner's ready," Lindsey calls. "Come in here and eat." Frank takes a sip of his drink and goes toward the dining room. James slings an arm around him as he goes past and squeezes. Frank smiles.

Somehow, Frank ends up seated across the table from Grant. He suspects Brian's machinations in this, but he can't be certain. Brian has a better poker face than all the rest of them combined.

Lindsey made something Indian. She's busy explaining her part-Indian heritage to Grant, and he tells a story about his first visit there, which keeps him focused on Lindsey's end of the table and makes it all too easy to sneak looks at him. Then James starts telling the table a story about the first restaurant he'd ever worked at, which sets everybody laughing.

They take turns telling all their batshit crazy restaurant nightmare stories. Grant has several up his sleeve, each crazier than the last. "And _that_ is why I no longer work directly in the business," Grant ends. "I think this suits me better anyway."

"And the travel and the celebrity perks?" Gerard asks. 

"Fuck 'em. Well, not the travel. That part is important to me."

"Favorite place you've ever been?" asks Brian.

"Kathmandu. Romania. India." He nods and smiles at Lindsey. "New Mexico. This room right now."

"That's a pretty wide range," Gerard says. 

"I'm a complicated person," Grant says. "But aren't we all."

"Those are the best kinds of people," James declares.

Frank is acutely aware of how he's never been much of anywhere except Paris for a week-long intensive chocolatier course that left him so exhausted at the end of every day that he didn't do much except a perfunctory visit to the Eiffel Tower. He takes a bite of food to mask the sigh, but someone kicks him: Gerard, sitting at the foot of the table next to him.

Sometimes, Frank really regrets the fact that his friends know him so fucking well. He kicks back and takes another bite. "This is really fucking good, Lindsey," Frank says when he swallows.

"Thanks, Frankie," she says. "I got a new vegetarian cookbook on tour."

"She kept texting me about the stuff she was going to cook when she got home," Gerard says, making a face. "It was really unfair."

Frank laughs. "My heart bleeds for you. Truly."

"No, the pictures of herself were unfair," Brian corrects. "The recipes were just inconvenient."

Lindsey grins. "It can get boring, out on the road. You have to make your own fun."

"I have a tiny violin that is playing the world's saddest song," Frank says. They all just laugh.

"What do you think the world's saddest song would sound like?" James asks after a minute in a typical Dewees brainwave. Gerard, of course, has an opinion, and they end up discussing music for the rest of the meal. Actually, _everyone_ has an opinion about that. It's a lively discussion and they all have pretty different ideas about what that song would sound like.

Frank forgets about Gerard until Gerard corners him with a cup of coffee, which is dirty. But Frank has been awake for too many hours to turn down caffeine, so he takes the coffee, even though it means he gives Gerard an opening to say, "Why are you being a moron about this, Frank?"

"You need to stop talking to your boyfriend. He poisons your mind," Frank says grumpily. He doesn't mean it, though. And Gerard knows it.

"Frank, I've always known you will, given the slightest chance, be a moron," Gerard replies.

"I'm being smart about this," Frank argues. Gerard raises an eyebrow. "Gee, it's a _crush_. I'm not gonna…" Frank sighs and rubs a hand over his face.

Gerard removes the hand gently. "You're tired. I know. I'm sorry."

"You're _nosy_ ," Frank corrects, but he squeezes Gerard's shoulder to show that he doesn't mean it critically.

"Maybe," Gerard allows. "But you're lonely." 

"I know, Gee," Frank says and sighs. "And you guys already make that better, so I'm good."

Amazingly, it's the last time any of them say anything for the rest of the evening. Frank guesses they just had to get it out of their collective systems.

Eventually, Frank and James and Brian all start yawning more than they're talking. Lindsey laughs. "Okay, the three of you need to get home before you fall asleep right here."

James laughs. "I'm already asleep. Frank, pinch my arm so I can drive you home." 

"Do you not have a car here, Frank?" Grant asks.

Frank shakes his head. "My uncle is doing some maintenance on my car, so James gave me a ride everywhere today."

"May I give you a lift back to yours?" Grant asks. And fuck, Frank knew it was coming. Or - did he? Hoped. With some part of him that actually _is_ a moron.

So he smiles and says, "yeah, sure," and very carefully doesn't look at anyone else in the room. Except they have yet to say their goodbyes.

Lindsey goes to get the containers of leftovers she made for Frank and James. Brian leans tiredly against Gerard, and Gerard kisses his temple as he wraps an arm around his shoulders. Christ, Frank misses that. It's all the little things about relationships that he misses most.

Lindsey squeezes Gerard's fingers as she comes back into the room, kissing Frank and James on the cheek and giving Grant a hug. Gerard comes over for hugs too, but Brian just raises an eyebrow. He's fulfilled his quota of hugs today, apparently. He does shake Grant's hand.

Gerard squeezes him tight and Frank knows exactly what he's saying. It's almost a relief to walk out and follow Grant to his car.

"I hope I'm not too out of the way," Frank says after Grant opens the door for him.

Grant waves away the worry. "Provided you don't fall asleep before we get there, I'm quite sure it will be fine."

"I should be good," Frank says. "Gerard shoved some coffee down my throat not too long ago."

"It looked like that wasn't the only thing," Grant says.

"I- what?"

Grant shrugs. "It just looked like he was giving you a _talk_ about something. Tell me to fuck off if it's none of my business."

"I can't tell you to fuck off," Frank protests. "But it wasn't - he means well. That's all I'm gonna say."

"Fair enough," Grant says easily. "Your family seem very protective of one another. It's lovely."

Frank smiles. "Yeah. I love them a lot. Sometimes I wish they'd keep their big noses out if things, but then I realize I'd probably miss their attempts at meddling." He changes the subject. "Do you have a lot of family still in Scotland?"

Grant nods. "My mum. And my sister and her family."

"Do you visit often?" Frank asks. 

"I try to spend at least few months a year there as my home base. It varies. Mum's health is unpredictable as well."

"Is it hard, calling two places home? And you travel a lot, too."

"Sometimes," Grant replies. "Usually when my mum has a bad spell. I want to be there for her and then feel guilty for wanting to leave."

"Where is your house, anyway?" Frank asks curiously. 

"A bit past Westfield. I'd meant to look closer in towards the city, but when I saw the house I knew I had to make it my home." 

"I'm more on the way to your place than I am James's," Frank says. Somehow, that doesn't surprise him at all. 

"Sounds like fate to me," Grant says lightly. "You'll have to visit sometime. I won't guarantee the house is haunted, but it certainly has an aura about it that is -" 

"Freaky?" 

"Energized," Grant corrects.

They lapse into a comfortable silence, with Frank murmuring directions every so often. When Grant pulls up in front of Frank's apartment building, he lets the engine idle as turns to Frank. "It was a wonderful evening, made even better by your presence."

"I almost think you mean that," Frank jokes.

"I do," Grant says, quietly. Frank feels a whole bunch of things at once, but mostly he doesn't fucking know what to do with this information. "And if I ask you if I can ring you sometime soon?" Grant asks.

"To... talk about the shop?" Frank hazards. 

"Or music or books or maybe arrange to go see a movie together," Grant says. 

"That sounds like a date," Frank replies.

Grant says, "That was my intent, yes." Frank can't- he stares at Grant. "If you'd rather not, I'll be disappointed, but not upset. I know the shop is your main priority," Grant adds. 

"I don't know what to say, Grant," Frank says, picking at the frayed knee of his jeans.

The car is silent for another moment, and then Grant takes a deep breath. "As I said," he murmurs, "Disappointed. But I am very grateful to have met you, Frank."

"No, I… fuck. The truth is, I've spent… more than a few minutes in the last week trying to convince everyone that I'm too busy, that it'd be a bad idea. And maybe both of those things are true, but I also really fucking want to say yes," Frank says. 

"Then say yes," Grant replies. "Life is too short to always do what we should."

Frank sneaks a look at Grant's face, and Grant's expression knocks his breath out of his chest. "Yes," Frank says. "Yes, I'd like that a lot. I… as you can see, I turn into a fucking pumpkin ridiculously early, but maybe we can catch a weekend matinee sometime soon?"

"Of course. And dinner at mine." 

"If I don't see any ghosts, I'll demand my money back," Frank warns him. 

He feels ridiculous and a little crazy, but apparently that's okay, because Grant is laughing when he says, "I'll let them know they're included in the invitation."

"Good," Frank says. They exchange phone numbers and as Frank's getting out, he leans forward and kisses Grant's cheek. "Drive safe." 

"Sleep well," Grant says in a mildly startled voice.

"You, too," Frank says. He doesn't let himself linger, even though, fuck, he really kind of wants to. 

He manages to fall asleep pretty quickly, but only because he's so tired. His last thought is that he's totally going to have to tell James, Brian, and everyone else by extension tomorrow, so he can just get it over with. 

Somehow, Frank is the last one in the next morning, and those fuckers both just stare at him. "What?" he demands, grumpily. "Fuck you. Give me some of that coffee."

They actually let him down a cup before Brian breaks and says, "Well?" 

Frank sighs, but he can't help the smile that crosses his face or the pleasant feeling in his belly. "I agreed to go on a date with him."

"I knew it," Brian smirks. James smiles and heads for the ovens and starts singing a song about dating a chef.

Frank tries to school his face back into a scowl, but he can't quite do it. He really is pleased about this, despite all the reasons it could go terribly wrong. He _likes_ Grant and he _really_ likes that Grant clearly likes _him_.

Of course, since he's so happy about it, it takes weeks to find a good day.

"I admit, my timing could have been better," Grant says ruefully. He's at the other end of the phone line, just like all the conversations they've had these past two weeks. "The birth of a new book is never unproblematic." 

"It's fine," Frank assures him. "Whenever works for you works for me."

"Sunday," Grant says. "Yes?"

"Yes," says Frank, emphatically. The shop is closed Sundays and Mondays. 

"Shall I pick you up, or would you like to meet there?" Grant asks. "Or you could pick me up, I suppose." 

"I'll pick you up," Frank says. "Send me your address?"

"I will," Grant promises. "I'll see you soon, Frank." 

"Fuck yeah," Frank grins. He gets Grant's address in his email inbox a minute later and literally wiggles in his chair. He hasn't been this excited for a date in a long time. Sunday is still very far away.

When Gerard comes into the shop on Friday afternoon after a meeting in the city, he gives Frank a bruisingly tight hug. Frank chuckles and hugs him back. "I was doing fine, you know."

"Fine is fine. I want you to be as happy as -"

"As you?" Frank asks.

"You deserve it," Gerard insists.

"Thanks, Gee," Frank says. "You realize we haven't even been on our first date yet, right?" 

"Whatever. I have a good feeling about this," Gerard replies as he pulls back. 

"I - thanks, Gee," Frank says.

Gerard kisses him on the cheek. "You'll give me all the dirty details, right?"

Frank laughs. "If you insist." 

Gerard grins and goes over to kiss Brian. Frank decides in that moment that the first thing he's going to do on Sunday will be kissing Grant.

All of Saturday, Frank's nerves are buzzing. He channels the energy into creating decadent truffles and intricately-decorated spun sugar shapes. He has trouble falling asleep that night, but eventually he manages. 

When he wakes up, he actually makes himself breakfast and drinks coffee and makes a concerted effort not to over-think his outfit. It's not hard, really, because Frank doesn't own much that he can't wear to work. He double checks the directions and heads out the door. It's a twenty minute drive, and as he goes the houses get older, bigger, more rambling. 

By the time he gets to Grant's driveway, they're pretty much in the country and all the houses around are the old family home sort. Grant's right; the house in front of Frank is a mad old farmhouse. It's the most perfect thing Frank has ever seen. He parks and walks up to the porch. A mangy-looking tabby cat sits on the railing, grooming a paw and giving him a shrewd look. 

Frank laughs at it and knocks on the door. It only takes Grant a moment to answer and Frank smiles and steps close. "Hi," he says. 

"You found me," Grant smiles. 

Frank wraps a hand around the back of Grant's neck and tugs him down for a kiss. Grant huffs out a laugh, but he opens his mouth to Frank's immediately. Fuck, it's been a long time since Frank kissed anybody, but he doesn't remember it being this good. Grant kisses slow and sweet, deep, like dark chocolate. Frank moans and tightens his grip on Grant. 

They keep kissing for several long minutes before Grant finally pulls back. "I really fucking wanted to do that," Frank says apologetically.

"You're full of good ideas," Grant tells him.

"I really am. Okay. Movie time," Frank says. "And then we're coming back here and you're showing me your house because it's fucking amazing."

"Sounds perfect," Grant says.

They fill the drive to the theater with small talk. But it's like there's some sort of electric current, just under the surface: by the time they get to the movie theater, Frank is buzzing out of his skin. The theater is old and showing classic horror for the month. Frank's seen the one they chose a million times, but it'll be cool to see it on the big screen. They buy their tickets and sit in the back of the theater. Grant takes his hand and Frank… doesn't really pay any attention to the movie for the first twenty minutes or so.

Grant likes to lean in and murmur comments in Frank's ear, and that's the only thing that does snap him back into the present. Fuck, he feels like he's seventeen again. Grant's hand is warm in Frank's, his commentary is funny or insightful or both, and Frank just… really likes him. More than he's been into anyone in a long time. He's having too much fun to care if this is a good idea.

By the time the movie hits its third act, Frank can't handle it anymore. He leans over to kiss Grant again, hidden in the dark of the theater. He feels Grant smile against his mouth before he starts kissing back. Fuck, he hasn't made out in the back of a theater in a million years. It's like caramel this time; slow and smooth. He loses track of the movie: he loses track of _everything_ except Grant's mouth. They don't pull apart until the credits roll. Frank would be embarrassed if not for the fact that it was so fucking good and Frank can see Grant smiling at him in the dim lights of screen.

"I'm not usually so forward on a first date," Grant says when they climb back into Frank's car, "but I like the kissing. A lot."

"I - me, too," Frank agrees. He scrubs a hand through his hair and says, "your place?"

"Yes. I promised you a tour," Grant says. 

Frank smiles and backs out of his parking space. "Does your house have an interesting history?"

"It was a farmhouse for several generations. Each one added on to it; then there was a particularly prosperous generation that turned it into what you see today."

"Do you keep chickens?" Frank teases. When Grant grins and nods, Frank laughs aloud. 

"I have a few that came with the house. I pay a neighbor to care for them when I'm away." Grant says.

Frank laughs. "Rooster?" 

"To my frequent consternation, yes," Grant replies.

"I saw the cat, too." 

"Which one?" Grant asks. "There are three or four." 

"Oh, god, you're actually a farmer," Frank giggles.

"Not bad for a lad from Scotland," Grant grins, letting his accent thicken a bit. "It's just cats and chickens, though. I've considered keeping a few goats, but that will have to wait, I think." 

"I love goats," Frank says. "My mother always said I must've been a goat in another life."

"Let me guess," Grant says, voice curling on a smile. "You were always running about and climbing on things?"

"Yup. And being a little punk asshole… which. I still do that shit if given half an opportunity," Frank admits.

"You? A punk? I'm shocked," Grant says, though he's clearly nothing of the sort.

"Shut up. I'm totally deep and mysterious," Frank retorts.

Grant's answering laugh is low and it just _does_ things to Frank, rolling through his chest and curling in the pit of his stomach.

He makes the last turns to Grant's house. It's a nice evening, so when they get out, Grant takes his hand and leads him around the house to the back. He points out the chicken coop, and the little patch of garden that's more weeds than anything else. "I'd like to actually plant, but I always seem to be gone during all the times I'd need to be here," Grant explains. "Root vegetables are all I've been able to manage." One of the cats comes up to them and butts its head against Grant's leg, meowing. "Hello, Rosemary," Grant says, bending down to scratch the cat's ears.

Frank grins. "Good name." He leans down to run a hand down her back. She purrs like a fucking freight train.

"She likes you," Grant says, pleased.

Frank smiles up at him. "Cats usually… take a while to warm up to me."

"Rosemary has excellent taste. Or perhaps she recognizes another human who will spoil her with kitchen scraps."

"Speaking of, are you cooking for me?" Frank grins.

"I had intended to, yes," Grant replies. 

Frank stands and they go inside the house through the back door, which opens into the kitchen. Frank grins as he looks at all the accoutrements you'd find in a professional kitchen. "Remodeled as soon as you moved in or did you try to keep the farmhouse kitchen for a while?"

"It was already started, thankfully. I just tweaked the design."

"Awesome," Frank says. 

"It worked out well. Especially since I was about to go on the road when I bought the house, so I set the contractor to work and then left." Grant pulls various ingredients from his fridge. "I am going to show off a bit now," Grant says complacently, then tugs Frank close enough to kiss him again. Frank kisses back happily and they both get distracted for a few minutes until Grant finally pulls away. "Right. Showing off." He's breathless and that just makes Frank grin. 

"Are you going to fix me a traditional dish from some country I've never even heard of?"

"Worse," Grant says. "I'm going to cook something Italian."

Frank laughs and lets Grant push him towards a low stool on the other side of the kitchen island. He watches Grant's hands as he cooks. He's got the practiced ease all chefs have and he talks with them too. He's all gestures and it's funny to watch him with a knife. Frank can tell what he's making right away, and he just watches indulgently. "You're trying to outdo my Nonna, aren't you?"

"I'm sure I could never," Grant protests. 

Frank giggles. "Hey, you're totally welcome to try. Just know that you'll fail."

"Let's see how close I can come, hm? That's the showing off part." Grant washes his hands and crosses to a wine rack. "Drink?"

"Sure," Frank agrees. 

Grant spends a moment humming to himself, indecisive, and finally grabs a bottle from one of the lower racks. "Italian," he says, grinning.

"Appropriate," Frank says. "Should I pour?"

"Sure," Grant says and points him to the wine glasses. 

"I suppose you bought this _in_ Italy?" 

Grant has the good grace to look sheepish. "A good friend of mine from our culinary school days has made her home there; she took me on a tour of the little vineyards near her town. She described that vintage as frisky. So when I saw it...it made me think of you."

Frank giggles. "I'll take it, I guess." He pours and Grant pauses cooking to take a sip with Frank. The wine is complicated. Frank closes his eyes to try and chase the different flavors around his mouth. When he opens them again, Grant is staring. 

"Frank, I don't know how to tell you how much I -"

Frank swallows. "Me too. Whatever you were going to say." 

Grant takes Frank's face in his hands for a kiss that's way too fucking brief. "I am going to finish dinner," Grant says, when he pulls away. "I am going to finish dinner, and we are going to eat. And then I am going to take you upstairs."

"For a tour?" Frank asks.

"Among other things. If you are amenable," Grant replies. 

"Fuck yeah," Frank says. He darts in for another kiss and then pulls back to sit down again. Grant walks back to the stove. 

Frank knows Grant didn't mean a tour. Fuck, he's nervous. He _never_ does this kind of thing anymore. He's just not the type. But. He can't seem to help himself. Not that he needs to but it's a pretty drastic change of pace. "Smells good," he says, just to say something.

"Thanks, Frank," Grant replies, pulling plates and silverware from cabinets. Frank takes the place settings from Grant and sets the table for them. He finishes just as Grant is ready to serve. 

They settle in with their food and their wine. " _Bon appetit_ ," says Grant. 

" _Salut_ ," Frank replies.

Frank takes a bite of the eggplant parm and holds in a moan. 

"Verdict?" Grant asks. 

"Very nearly as good as my grandmother's," Frank says. 

"That may be the highest praise I've ever received," Grant muses. "The company isn't bad either."

"The company is inarguably the best part," Frank says and takes another bite.

Grant gets Frank talking about his days in the Jersey music scene. He's got a million stories, which keep him talking until he's surprised when he realizes the food is gone. And most of the wine. He's nervous again, but in a muted way. Mostly, he really fucking wants to kiss Grant again. He doesn't feel drunk. He just feels _good_. He wants to see the upstairs, now.

"Grant?" he asks softly.

Grant reaches across the table and laces their fingers together. "Upstairs?" Grant asks. 

"Yeah," says Frank. "I... yeah."

"I won't rush you," Grant murmurs.

"I'm not worried," Frank says. And it's the complete truth. He tugs Grant to his feet and kisses him.

Grant wraps an arm around his waist and holds him close. "That just keeps getting better," he murmurs.

"I say we find out how much better it can get," Frank replies, and Grant kisses him again before leading him toward the stairs. 

The upper level of the farmhouse is warm, and Frank is looking forward to seeing the rest of it, really. But right now, all he cares about is the fact that Grant is opening a door and Frank sees a bed on the other side of it.

Actually he does have to stop and take a second. Because this is a fucking decadent bedroom. Frank usually spends most of his extra money on instruments and music. This bedroom is pretty spectacular. 

"I like having a place to come home to after dealing with the City," Grant explains, walking over to a cozy-looking armchair by the window and picking up yet another cat. "Pecorino, mate, I'm evicting you for a bit." He crosses to the door and deposits the cat on the hallway runner, then shuts the door and looks up at Frank.

Frank walks up to him, grabs his hips, and pulls him close. "I like your room. Your whole house, really."

"I'm really fucking glad," Grant tells him, and then they're kissing again. Fuck. Frank thought the kissing was enough, but it turns out it's not even fucking close to enough. Frank's entire body feels electric. He wants Grant's skin. All of it. He slides his hands under Grant's t-shirt and slides it up over his head. "Yes," Grant murmurs, hands going to the buttons of Frank's own shirt. "Fuck, Frank, you're amazing." He traces over Frank's chest piece reverently.

Frank does his own exploring, over Grant's chest as down to slide gentle fingers over the scar on his belly. "What happened?" Frank asks. 

"I had my appendix out when I was a boy," Grant says, tangling their fingers together. "I was rather terribly fucking ill, actually. Came out of it determined to see the world. And I have." He cups Frank's chin and lifts his face.

Frank wraps his arms around Grant's waist, closes his eyes, and they kiss. Frank can hardly think of anything but Grant's mouth. And then Grant's mouth starts wandering down Frank's throat. "We should... your bed," Frank says, breathless.

"In a moment," Grant hums, tugging at Frank's belt. It's an exercise in patience to let Grant get his jeans and briefs down before Frank basically pounces on Grant to get _his_ off. "Impatient," Grant laughs. 

Frank finishes undoing Grant's belt and teases, "Frisky, remember?" 

"I love it," Grant murmurs, then gasps as Frank slips a hand inside his trousers.

"Shit," Frank breathes and wraps a hand around Grant's cock. He jerks it a few times, running his thumb over the head. Grant's breath comes unsteadily, and he tips his head forward to rest on Frank's shoulder. "Yeah," Frank whispers in his ear. "I'm good with my hands too."

Grant laughs breathlessly. "Don't think I didn't notice that already."

"Yeah?" Frank bites at Grant's neck.

Grant takes hold of his free hand, pulling it to his lips and nibbling on Frank's fingertips. Frank moans. He wants Grant's pants off, but he also doesn't want Grant to stop doing whatever he's doing so they can accomplish that. 

"Frank," Grant murmurs. He kisses Frank's fingertips.

"Grant, I can't fucking concentrate," Frank whispers back. He's starting to shiver a little.

Grant smiles against his fingers. "Bed now, yes?" Frank nods and takes his hand back and finally gets Grant's the rest of Grant's clothing off.

Grant follows him down onto the bed, covering Frank's body with his own. "You're so -" Grant cuts himself off. 

"So what?" Frank breathes. 

"Small," Grant finishes. "And it's perfect. You fit underneath me so well, gorgeous."

Frank wraps his arms around Grant's neck. "Yeah. I like it."

"Good," Grant says, and he lowers his mouth to Frank's. Frank lets himself writhe underneath Grant, just to feel their skin brush and rub. Fuck. It's so damn good. Grant's weight pressing against him is maybe the best thing Frank's felt in a long time, and it's only going to get better. "Tell me what you want," Grant says, grinding down.

"Fuck me," Frank replies. "Just like this."

"Yes," Grant breathes in his ear. And lifts up to look into Frank's face. "You are..." Grant says, trailing off. "Frank, this is the opposite of casual. But you've taken me over, from the moment I first saw you. I'm sorry if I -"

"No, I--" Frank cuts himself off and takes a deep breath. "That works for me." 

"Good," Grant says, vehemently. He leans down for another kiss, a deep, consuming one. When he pulls back, he leans over to his bedside table and grabs lube and after a minor amount of struggle with plastic wrap and the box, a condom too. Frank just laughs. "Can you blame me?" Grant asks.

"You had to go out and buy condoms," Frank giggles. "I thought I was the only one."

Grant laughs with him. "I did. Realized the ones I had expired six months ago. Not that I… expected this today. Just. It was something I was thinking about as an eventuality." 

Frank _feels_ that, like a punch in the gut. It's fucking amazing. He plucks the condom out of Grant's fingers. "I'll hold on to this until you're ready." 

Grant nods and leans in to kiss him, and then kiss down his neck and across his chest. "Your ink," says Grant. "You're like a fucking _feast_."

Frank stretches under Grant's mouth as Grant sucks at the center of Frank's chest. Frank hopes it leaves a mark. 

Frank reaches down to curl a hand around the back of Grant's skull. "Grant," he whines. "Aren't you going to-" 

"I'm going to make my way...slowly...through this banquet," Grant murmurs, mouth moving down Frank's stomach.

"Fuck," Frank gasps. Grant uses his tongue and fingers to trace over Frank's birds. "You're a fucking tease," Frank spits.

"No," Grant murmurs. "I'll get where I'm going."

Grant pops open the lube and gets some on his fingers. He kisses down Frank's thigh and over the tattoo there and slides his fingers down over Frank's balls and back. Frank whines at the touch of his fingertips, even though he's gentle. He's slow, circling around Frank's entrance and eventually he presses in one finger and Frank shudders. "Grant," he moans. 

"I have you," Grant murmurs, kissing his hip. Frank's hand smoothes over Grant's head and down to cup his cheek. Grant turns his head to kiss Frank's palm. "I want to see you let go," Grant tells him. "I want to see you lost in pleasure."

Frank moans. "Keep talking like that and it won't be long." Grant smiles, kisses his hip again, and starts thrusting his finger. He presses up, testing till he finds the spot that makes Frank gasp and swear.

"Gorgeous," Grant murmurs. He adds another finger slowly and gently, watching Frank's face the whole time. Frank grasps at the sheets, and tries to maintain eye contact. "I want to make sure you're ready," Grant tells him. "If you can't hold on, it's -" 

"I will," Frank gasps. "More."

Grant kisses him. "Keep talking, love."

"Your fingers feel so good," Frank moans. "Can't wait until it's your cock."

Grant strokes over his prostate again. "Me neither."

"Fuck," Frank spits, fingers twisting in the bed sheets. Grant slides a third finger inside Frank and he thrusts down against them almost immediately, sure that Grant knows he's nearly ready. 

Grant moves his fingers a few more times, then pulls them out and rolls the condom on, rolling Frank up onto his side and hooking an arm under his thigh to press into him in slow increments. Frank has to bite his lip to stop himself from keening. It feels so fucking _good_. Grant is hung, and he takes his time, and Frank feels so goddamn _full_.

Frank reaches up behind him and cups Grant's cheek. Grant's lips rest against the back of his neck. "You feel so good, Frank. So good." Grant wraps him up in his arms and starts thrusting, each stroke slow and deep.

"You-" Frank gasps. He rolls his hips to meet Grant's thrusts, and Grant chokes out a moan.

They move together and after several minutes, Grant moves his hand to wrap it around Frank's cock. His hand is amazing. Frank squeezes his eyes shut and tips his head back against Grant's shoulder and pants out pleas, praise, he doesn't even know.

"You are-" Grant moans. "Frank, you feel so-"

"You too," Frank responds. "Please. So close." Grant strokes faster, hips moving in rhythm. Frank rocks back against him and moans. Frank doesn't have words anymore. The whole world is sensation. He's not going to last much longer. He doesn't want to. He wants to come. To feel Grant come. "Grant," he gasps. 

"Let go," Grant whispers back, lips against his cheek.

Frank does. He gasps and writhes and lets the tide of pleasure wash over him. "Grant," he moans. Grant's fingers bite into his hip and his thrusts get more erratic. 

"Yeah," he pants. "Almost. Fuck."

Every single thrust sends a little thrill of almost-too-much sensation up Frank's spine. "Come on," he slurs, grabbing Grant's hand and kissing his knuckles, biting at his fingertips. Grant comes with one last hard thrust, moaning against Frank's neck. He goes still for a moment, then kisses the skin gently. 

Frank doesn't have it in him to do anything except breathe in and out and savor how fucking _good_ he feels. Grant moves his hand up to press against Frank's chest. 

Frank covers it with his own. "That was - so fucking good," he whispers. 

"Yes," Grant says, kissing the back of Frank's neck. "I- that was- _yes_."

"Lost your words, hotshot?" Frank teases.

"I have, actually," he says softly and presses his lips against Frank's skin again. He leaves them there as he pulls out, then moves away.

Frank rolls onto his back and waits for Grant to clean up. He comes back with a warm wash cloth, runs it over Frank's sweaty forehead and chest, then between his legs before tossing it vaguely in the direction of a hamper and letting Frank pull him into his arms. 

"Let me know if you find any words," Frank whispers. Grant responds with a yawn, and Frank laughs. 

"Perhaps a nap would help things," Grant murmurs.

Frank smiles and kisses Grant soft and slow. "A nap sounds good."

"When we wake up you can make me dessert," Grant mumbles. Frank makes a vaguely yes-type noise into the skin of Grant's throat. 

They sleep. Frank wakes up feeling hot and disoriented, but the second he realizes where he is, he smiles. Grant stirs as soon as Frank does, and Frank realizes he's reading while Frank sleeps against his chest.

"Sorry," says Frank. "I, uh. I don't get a lot of sleep. I guess I take it where I can."

"It's no bother," Grant replies and kisses his forehead. "I rather enjoyed it, actually." 

"If you're sure. And I will make you dessert," Frank says after a glance at the clock.

"Whenever you like," Grant replies. He sets his book aside and wraps his arms around Frank again.

"In a minute," Frank says and kisses Grant slow, a little sleepy. It's perfect. He'll make dessert - as a bedtime snack. 

"Are you staying over, gorgeous?" Grant murmurs.

"Shop's closed Mondays," Frank tells him. 

"Then you should stay, if you like," Grant replies. 

"I'd like that," Frank says. He wasn't planning on it - at least that's what he told himself - but somehow he has a bag packed all the same.

"I'm very glad to hear it," Grant says, and leans in for another kiss. 

This is going to be a very good night, he thinks. 

* 

Tuesday morning, Frank makes himself coffee _before_ he leaves the house. Because he knows he's going to need it to face Brian and James. 

James is already at work when Frank arrives and he crows happily at the sight of him. "I haven't seen you look this relaxed since that groomsman at that wedding in Nutley traded us joints for cream puffs."

"Fuck off," Frank says automatically, but he knows he's grinning like an idiot, even on far too little coffee. 

"I'm assuming by that fucking cat got the canary look on your face that it was good?" James asks. 

"Extremely," Frank replies as Brian comes in the door. 

"Frankie got laid," James sing-songs. 

"Thank _fuck_ ," says Brian, fervently. Frank just goes to get more coffee. But he can't quite keep from smirking. 

They'd made plans for the next weekend, but Frank won't be surprised if Grant shows up at the shop once or twice this week. 

He's not disappointed. On Thursday, Grant wanders into the kitchen while Frank is working on cinnamon-cayenne chile chocolates. 

"I'm all messy," he complains. 

"Hands up," Grant tells him, and when Frank obeys Grant obligingly steps close to kiss him.

James wolf-whistles. Frank chooses to ignore him. "So what brings you to our neck of the woods?" Frank asks when they pull apart. 

"I was in the neighborhood," Grant says, with a boyish grin. 

"I don't think I care if you're lying," Frank tells him.

Grant leans in and pecks his cheek. "It's mostly true," Grant says. "I'm only a small bit out of my way."

"I'm worth it," Frank tells him. He picks up one of the chocolates and presses it against Grant's lips. 

Grant takes a bite, then hums in approval. "The cinnamon is a nice touch." 

Frank drops the other half of the chocolate in his mouth. "Let me go wash up, I can take a few minutes." He washes the chocolate off his hands and gets coffees for both of them and goes out front where Grant is chatting amiably with James. "Okay. Break time."

Grant reels him in, and Frank is more than happy to let him.

"If I offer to cook this weekend, will you be afraid it will be all chocolate?" Frank asks, leaning up against Grant's chest.

"I'm sure you could make any number of amazing dishes using chocolate, but no. I'm not afraid," Grant replies. 

"That sounds like a challenge," Frank tells him, and then he leans in to bite at Grant's lower lip. He really fucking likes the sound that Grant makes. Grant is a fan of biting. Which works out. Because so is Frank. 

They make out like that for several minutes, until they're both breathing hard and Frank wishes they had more time. "I would much rather stay here than go to this meeting," Grant tells him.

"If you stay, I'm putting you on dishwashing duty," Brian interrupts.

Grant laughs. "Fine, fine. I'm leaving. Frank, I'll see you Saturday night." He kisses Frank one last time and pulls away. Frank is sad to see him go, but he feels a lot better about going back to his chocolates. 

Gerard wanders in a half-hour before closing, and loiters obviously until Frank finishes with the customers he's helping, sighs, and leads Gerard back into kitchen. "Brian said you got laid!" Gerard says, as soon as the door closes behind him. 

"I did have a lovely date where we watched a movie and talked over a gourmet dinner, yes," Frank replies, crossing his arms.

"Frankie," Gerard whines. 

Frank rolls his eyes. "Yes, I got laid. It was great. I plan to get laid again this weekend. Probably several times."

Gerard beams and hugs him. Frank grumbles, but he hugs back. 

"He looks like he'd be good in bed. Is he good in bed?" 

Frank giggles. He can't help it. "Fuck yes he is. Like. Really fucking good."

"I knew it," Gerard says, delighted. "And you're - you look happy, Frankie."

"I think - I think this is going to be good," Frank admits.

Gerard beams at him. "I'm glad, Frankie. You deserve it."

Frank shoves at Gerard's shoulder. "Stop beaming, motherfucker, you look like a moron." 

"You stop first," Gerard teases. Frank tries to stop smiling, he really does. But it's basically impossible at this point. "I am going to get so much payback for all the shit you gave me when I first hooked up with Brian. And then with Lindsey," Gerard promises, gleefully. 

"I liked it better when you were being sappy," Frank says sourly.

"I contain multitudes," Gerard replies. 

"I hate you," Frank says. 

"Uh huh," Gerard says, and hugs him again. Frank just lets him.

They close up the shop and Gerard sits on a stool, kicks his feet, and chatters about his day. Frank always enjoys this time after they've locked the door and are getting ready to go home. 

When the dishes are done, Brian walks over and kisses the shit out of Gerard. Frank makes fun of them right along with James, but something fucking glows in his chest, because for the first time in - fuck, _years_ , there's not even a spark of jealousy in him, watching Brian and Gerard. It feels really fucking good.

*

"Frank, grab those cake pops over there by the fridge," James calls. "They're Lindsey's favorite, I don't want to forget them."

Frank nods and gets the box from the counter. He's nervous about tonight, about seeing himself on camera. 

James, apparently, has no such hesitations. "My mom's so fucking proud, dude. She's having all her bingo friends over."

"That'll be a rocking party," Brian comments. 

"You don't even know," James says fervently. "They get _down_."

Frank laughs. "Ours will have the best food."

James nods, grinning. "Has Grant admitted what he's bringing to the potluck yet?" 

"Not a word. I'd bet something Italian, though. He likes making me tell him his food is almost as good as my grandma's," Frank says. 

"Kinky," Brian says. "Okay, Frank, if you're riding with me, let's go." They're having the viewing party potluck at Gerard and Lindsey's, since they have the most room. Grant hasn't said a word about the episode, either. He clearly wants it to be a surprise. 

Brian opens the trunk for Frank's bag but doesn't make a smart remark. It's been almost six months, but Frank hasn't really started leaving things at Grant's yet. He knows where everything in Grant's kitchen is, though. That 's probably telling enough.

The drive over is fast and they haul all the food and their things inside the house in two loads. When Frank is finally unburdened, Grant catches him around the waist and pulls him close. 

"Now my day is perfect," he says.

"Hey, baby," Frank murmurs. Grant tips his face forward, and Frank meets him for a kiss. They're new enough that they still get shit from everyone. Frank just flips them all off blindly and smiles against Grant's lips. He could do this for a while, but he's really hungry and something smells really good. Reluctantly, he pulls away. He doesn't go far, though. 

Frank leans in to kiss Lindsey's cheek. "Thanks for hosting this." 

"Are you kidding? There's no way I'd miss seeing your faces for this."

"Mine might be hiding the entire time," Frank says. 

"Doubtful," Grant tells him. "You look beautiful every time you're on camera."

"You're biased," James tells him. 

"I am incredibly biased," Grant says with a nod and a smile. "But you all filmed rather well." 

"Of course we did," Brian says, coming in the front door and also leaning in to kiss Lindsey's cheek.

"It's because you're all so goddamn beautiful," Gerard tells them, throwing his arms around Brian and Lindsey's shoulders.

Grant laughs. "It's true enough. Let's eat. It's nearly time to see your beautiful faces on that nice, big television over there." Frank thinks he looks a little nervous.

When he sees Grant's potluck contribution, he laughs. "Spaghetti? Just like grandma, huh?"

"Spaghetti with a dark chocolate marinara sauce," Grant admits.

Frank goes up on his toes to kiss Grant. "You're amazing." Grant catches his waist and holds him close. 

"You're blocking the buffet line," Gerard teases from behind them. Frank sticks his tongue out at Gerard, and he feels Grant's rich laugh right down in his bones. 

"Don't tempt me," Grant whispers in his ear. Frank shivers and forces himself to step out of Grant's arms to get some food. And to think, half a year ago he was actively resisting this. 

Once the plates have been filled, they settle in around the living room to eat. There's still fifteen minutes or so left until Grant's program, so the TV is muted. Frank loves that being friends with a bunch of foodies means lots of food talk, and sharing bites, and talking about other food that reminds them of food they are eating.

There's a lot of laughter, too. Which might be Frank's favorite part. 

Grant watches Frank closely when he takes his first bite of spaghetti. Frank closes his eyes, savoring. "Holy fuck," he says. Grant just smiles. "No, really. Are you angling for my job?" Frank asks.

"I wouldn't dream of it. You're far too good at it," Grant replies. "And I like watching you work."

"Speaking of which," Brian says, gesturing to the TV, where the credits for the program before Grant's are rolling. 

"Ooh," Gerard jumps up and grabs the remote to unmute the set.

Grant's voiceover starts and Frank leans against him and watches. "When I was looking to buy a house in the US, I looked at several places. Los Angeles, Seattle, Long Island, Savannah. I settled on New Jersey. This is why." 

The first five minutes are a basic profile of the shop. Frank winces once or twice, when it's obvious that a shot is from that first day, when Frank was still... warming up to Grant. He can tell Grant knows what Frank's thinking from the fond smirks thrown his way. The further they get into the show, the more Frank is torn between feeling really fucking touched and wanting to climb into Grant's lap and do completely dirty things to him right here on the couch in front of God and everybody. 

After the second commercial break the program takes a detour, and Grant profiles some of the other "wonderfully DIY" restaurants in the area— including Shaun's, and Hambone's diner. Frank stares at him until he looks back, cheeks faintly pink.

"You are so fucking…" Frank trails off and leans up to kiss Grant. He forces himself to pull back and keep watching. 

The whole show is a love letter to New Jersey's food scene— and to Jersey itself. It's so fucking obvious how passionate they all are, and Grant and the crew have done an incredible job showcasing the very best of Reggie's. James is grinning, and Brian's just staring like he can't believe what he's seeing. 

Frank mostly keeps looking at Grant. He can't quite believe Grant is real. At a commercial break, Grant grins at him and rubs his hand over his head. "It's all… I meant every word," he says. "I'm not just saying that because I… well." 

"I- yeah," Frank says. He wraps a hand around the back of Grant's neck and tugs.

"Good, if you didn't kiss him I was going to have to," Brian says from his spot on the other couch. Frank laughs breathlessly and presses their lips together. God. He is going to make Grant take him home immediately when this is over. 

After the break, it's the segment about the matcha-chocolate zombie heads. Frank is torn by between being embarrassed by his own face, and distracted by Grant's hands.

"My editing staff is all in love with at least one of the three of you," Grant murmurs in his ear. 

"And what about you?" Frank whispers back. 

"I think you already know the answer to that," Grant whispers back. Frank has no fucking idea what his face is doing. He doesn't fucking care. Grant kisses his neck, then his ear.

"Okay," James says. "The show is about to come back on and while I am all for a free show, I think you might regret it." Frank flips him off, but settles back against Grant, content. 

The next segment is still Frank, the hotel pitch this time. They show him joking with Gabe, show the camaraderie. And then there are a few shots of Frank talking passionately about the Jersey scene. James elbows him, a huge fucking smile on his face. From the other couch, where he's sitting pressed up against Gerard, Brian shoots him a huge grin. Gerard actually looks a little misty-eyed.

Frank laces his fingers with Grant's and squeezes. It's weird, to see himself like this. "That was the moment," Grant tells him. 

"The moment -" 

"That I knew I needed to make you mine," Grant murmurs.

"Oh," Frank says, softly. Fuck, they need to get out of here. Frank needs to say things. Do things. 

"Just a few more minutes," Grant says as if reading his mind. 

Grant on the television wraps it up after that, a voiceover over a series of loving shots of their food and their shop. "New York City can keep its haute cuisine and Zagat stars. New Jersey has heart, and I've never been more glad to call it my second home." 

Frank has to take a couple of deep breaths and bite the inside of his cheek. Everyone else cheers and starts chattering excitedly, telling Grant how grateful they are. "You'll probably need to hire some extra help now," Grant says. "I, uh, tend to have that sort of effect."

"We were hoping to do that soon," Brian says. 

"When the dining room is ready," Gerard adds. 

Lindsey laughs. "He means the mural."

"It's going to be so badass," Gerard promises, and Brian laughs and kisses his cheek. 

"We know, Gee."

"Can we talk about it tomorrow?" Frank blurts out. Everyone laughs at him, even Grant. 

"Get out of here, you fuckers," Brian says.

Frank makes his goodbyes as polite as he possibly can - because he does love them all - but hurries Grant out the door and starts patting him down for car keys. "Eager, love?" Grant asks. There's a smartass smirk at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes are warm. He fishes the keys out of his pants pocket and hands them to Frank.

"Yes," Frank says emphatically, but when they get in the car, he doesn't turn it on right away. "I love you," he says. 

"I - had hoped so," Grant replies. "That is, I know you do, but I'd hoped you'd tell me soon." 

Frank scrubs a hand through his hair and grins, ruefully. "I'm not very subtle," he admits. 

"Not about the way you feel, no," Grant tells him, reaching across the center console to take Frank's hand. "I love you too," Grant says, squeezing. "Very much. Let's go home."

Home, Frank thinks. He's not gonna be able to be subtle about that either. But he thinks that maybe that's okay. His own apartment feels empty and impersonal without Grant or even the cats. And he can't lie, he's already got plans for the garden. He drives toward the farmhouse, letting himself collect his thoughts for a moment.

"I wasn't looking for this," Frank says, after a long moment. "But fuck, Grant... I'm so glad you showed up."

Grant's fingers squeeze his again. "I cannot tell you how glad I am. When we get home, I shall have to show you as best I can."

"I like it when you call it home," Frank tells him,

"Frank," Grant says, wonderingly. "I- I've loved that place since i first saw it. But it's more a home since you've been in it."

Frank swallows. "I _feel_ at home there. I never want to leave."

"I saw you packed a bag again. Why don't you pack a lot of them?" Grant asks. 

"I - you want that?" 

"Move in with me," Grant replies. "I want you with me as much as I can get." 

"I don't have many bags. I practically lived at the shop. Now I don't want to, so you better not be lying about your show being good for business," Frank teases. They pull up to the farmhouse, and Frank has to take a few deep breaths before he can get out of the car. When he does, Grant is waiting. Frank takes his hand and they go into the house. "Think you can put up with me getting up at three-thirty most mornings?" Frank asks as they walk up the stairs toward the bedroom. 

"If you can put up with me going away from time to time," Grant says, seriously.

"I think we can make it work," Frank says. "Me and the cats and the vegetables will chill." 

Grant quirks up an eyebrow. "Vegetables?" 

"The garden is calling to me," Frank replies. 

Grant just _looks_ at him, but it's the kind of look that takes Frank's fucking breath away. But he smiles after, and takes Frank into his arms at the top of the stairs. "You're going to plant my garden, love?"

"Is that a euphemism? A really fucking terrible euphemism?" Frank asks. 

Grant laughs. "I didn't mean it as such, but take it as you will."

"I'd rather you take me down the hall," Frank tells him. "I have a lot of feelings about that TV program we just watched."

"Oh?" Grant asks, tugging him towards the bedroom door.

"If I didn't love you before I saw that, I would now," Frank says and takes off his jacket and then reaches for Grant's. 

"You didn't already know how I feel?" "

"About me, I was pretty sure. About Jersey... Well, it's just nice to have that confirmation. You told the whole world." 

"I'll tell them about you too."

Frank grabs Grant and hauls him in for a kiss. "You kind of already did," he points out. 

"True. Certainly those who know me well would figure it out," Grant says. "I am not particularly subtle about my feelings, either."

"I like that about you." Frank keeps stripping off items of clothing until Grant is completely naked.

"This is hardly fair," Grant murmurs.

"Better get busy, then," Frank says with a grin. Grant reaches out to pull up the hem of Frank's shirt. Frank doesn't do very much to help him, mostly just to see what Grant will do. He was impatient before, but now he feels like the calm one.

Grant likes going slow. "Savoring," he says, and Frank definitely understands the impulse, even if some nights Grant's carefully measured movements make him want to scream. Tonight, Grant's hands are moving fast, almost frantic. Like he's fucking _desperate_ for Frank. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes intent. Frank's shirt is gone in seconds, and Grant drops to his knees to undo Frank's belt, tugs down the zipper on Frank's jeans and mouths at Frank's cock through his underwear.

Frank moans and slides his hands over Grant's scalp to cup the back of his neck. Grant teases the wet spot on the cotton with his tongue. Frank sucks in a breath. "More, Grant."

"Fuck," Grant murmurs, and the heat of his breath is insanely good. He reaches up and hooks his fingertips in Frank's waistband, pushing Frank's pants and underwear down with one motion.

Grant pulls Frank's shoes off and he steps out of his clothes and Grant wraps a hand around the base if Frank's cock. He takes the head in his mouth, sliding his tongue over the slit. Frank throws his head back, but there's nothing behind him, nothing but Grant's hand tight on his hip. It's enough. Hopefully. Because fuck, Grant is good at this. "Guess your mouth isn't just good for talking on TV," Frank gasps.

Grant doesn't answer, except to do something incredibly distracting with his tongue, and Frank has to work to keep from thrusting his hips. Grant takes Frank's cock in all the way and swallows around the head. Frank can't hold back anymore. He's been turned on forever and Grant's mouth is fucking incredible. He lets his hips thrust back, forward, into Grant's fucking amazing mouth.

Grant just _takes_ it. "Fuck," Frank moans. "Grant you… fuck." He comes, fingers tightening on Grant's skin. 

Grant holds him steady until Frank can trust his legs. He tugs Grant to his feet. Frank wraps his arms around Grant's waist and kisses him, searching out his own taste and humming around Grant's tongue.

"Bed now," Grant gasps into Frank's mouth when he rolls his hips against Grant's. 

He's still sensitive, sticky from Grant's mouth, but he wants Grant so badly he can't think. Frank backs Grant up to the bed and follows him down, covering Grant's body with his own, rolling their hips together. He sucks at a spot just below Grant's ear. "Love you so much."

"I love you, Frankie. I can't...it was hard for me too, to wait tonight."

"I wanted to drag you off," Frank murmurs. "But then I would have missed all the nice things you said. You have a copy, right? Maybe I'll watch it whenever I miss you."

"And then do what?" Grant breathes.

"Oh, I dunno," Frank says. He feels a lazy grin spreading across his face. 

Grant smiles up at him, wraps his arms around Frank's shoulders, and rolls him over onto his back, pressing him into the mattress. "I'll expect a full report on anything you get up to."

"Same," Frank tells him. Grant bites at Frank's neck, and Frank's whole body hums with pleasure. He runs his hands up and down Grant's back. "You gonna fuck me?" Frank whispers. 

"Yes," Grant whispers back. "Gonna make it good, love."

"Gonna make a _mess_ ," Frank grins.

"That too," Grant replies and reaches for the lube on the bedside table. Frank just leans back against the pillows and grins.

Grant slicks up his fingers and slides two inside of Frank, quick and easy. Frank moans. Fuck, that's so good. Every time. 

Grant closes his eyes. "Love your hands," Frank tells him. 

"That's good, because I rather like touching you with them," Grant breathes. He leans down and kisses Frank's knee, then adds a third.

"More- c'mon, baby, more."

"Are you ready for me, gorgeous?" Grant whispers. 

"Please. Yes, now." Every time they fuck, no matter what they're doing, Grant makes Frank feel like he's burning up. 

Grant moves up his body and positions himself. He pushes slowly inside and Frank moans loud. "You are so amazing," Grant murmurs.

"Fuck," Frank gasps, "fuck, fuck- Grant, you feel so fucking good." He wraps his arms around Grant's neck and arches up. "I love you, so much, so, so -" Frank's already on the edge, like he didn't just come barely ten minutes ago; at the same time, he feels like he could do this for hours. 

Grant runs his fingers down Frank's throat and tips their foreheads together. "I can't - Frank -" Grant is struggling to keep his thrusts slow.

"C'mon," Frank murmurs. "Don't- c'mon. Let go. Let me feel everything." 

"Yes," Grant gasps against his cheek and starts thrusting faster, harder. "Oh, fuck yes."

Frank turns his head to catch Grant's lips, wrapping his arms and legs tighter around Grant's body and tracing the curve of Grant's spine with his hand. Grant's kisses are getting increasingly desperate, and all Frank can do is hold on. Grant thrusts once more and comes hard, burying his face in Frank's neck and moaning loud. He stays that way until his breathing steadies. Frank is still hard, but he can't concentrate on doing anything about it. He needs Grant.

He settles for running his hands over Grant's ass, his back, the nape of his neck. "Baby," he murmurs. Grant pulls out with a moan and moves onto his side next to Frank. "Haven't recovered this fast in a long damn time," Frank tells him with a grin. 

Grant hums approvingly. "Well, go on then and show me what you intend to do about that." Frank laughs and rolls up to meet him, thrusting their hips together. Grant hisses. 

"Sensitive?" Frank asks, grinning. 

"Yes," Grant moans. "Don't stop."

Frank kisses his chest and wraps a hand around himself. "Gonna come all over you."

Grant tangles a hand in Frank's hair and pulls him in, kissing him slow and deep and so fucking good. Frank's whole body is thrumming. Frank keeps stroking his cock. He's still pretty sensitive himself and he's not going to need much. Grant's kisses are more than enough, especially when his fingers join Frank's. His orgasm breaks over him and drags him down. 

Grant keeps kissing him and finally Frank pulls away to breathe. He opens his eyes and looks down at their bodies, at the mess he made. "Told you I'd mess you up," he says smugly.

"I didn't say I minded," Grant replies, voice already a little sleep-slurred. 

Frank chuckles. He's feeling pretty sleepy himself, but he manages to force himself to get out of bed to fetch a washcloth to clean them both up. When he gets settled again, Grant wraps himself around Frank and presses his face against Frank's shoulder. "You making me breakfast in the morning?" Frank asks. 

"Frittata," Grant murmurs. "I have a new recipe to test on you." 

"I love being your test subject," Frank replies.

"I love _you_ ," Grant mumbles against his shoulder. 

"Love you too," Frank replies and kisses the top of Grant's head. It's time to sleep, and Frank is exhausted.

He doesn't drop off as quickly as Grant, though. He drifts, just basking in the fact that he's warm, and he's home, and he's got someone he loves wrapped around him. He's never been so glad to be wrong about someone in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Go check out the mix by halfeatenmoon [here](http://fleurdeliser.dreamwidth.org/187130.html).


End file.
